


Wherever I May Roam

by FayJay



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-10
Updated: 2009-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayJay/pseuds/FayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which the Winchesters encounter a young woman from another dimension, on the trail of an entirely new kind of vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NB: although this isn't really Wincest, it does eventually involve a Winchester/Faith sandwich (because Faith, bless her, is the Do That Girl), which is perhaps...well, less than perfectly fraternal, so if you have an intense Wincest squick, this may not be your cup of tea.

Even by their standards it had been a hell of a week, and a hell of a month before that. Once they had finally found the tin box containing Old Man Jackson's bones in the twelfth hole they dug, and once Sam had used up all the rocksalt shooting at the pissy old bastard while Dean salted and burned his remains, they both agreed that they deserved to take the weekend off and relax.

LA was Dean's idea. The City of Angels.

Later on he agreed that a name like that was pretty much asking for trouble.

* * * 

The bar was just this side of sleazy. Dean felt at home as soon as they stepped through the door. The music was loud, there were several pool tables, the alcohol was plentiful and varied, and the women were hotter than a volcano in hell.

"We have died and gone to babe heaven, bro," said Dean, his face lighting up with the glee of a kid in an unmanned candy store as he surveyed the room. "Man, I _love_ LA. Go get me a beer, will you, Sammy?" he added, his eyes darting to each of the pool tables in turn and weighing up the players. He ducked automatically to avoid Sam's irritable swipe, never taking his eyes off the target, and grinned as the hand skated through the air where the back of his head had been an instant earlier.

"It's Sam," said Sam evenly, more out of habit than real annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Chuckles. Beer. Some of us have an honest living to make." He heard Sam's snort of derision as he strolled over to the pool tables, but ignored it. Hustling pool _was_ as close as he got to earning an honest living; and until his baby brother learned how to magic dollar bills our of thin air, or people started rewarding the Winchester family's work with something more substantial than a few words of shell-shocked gratitude, this was the way it was going to be for quite some time. Sure as hell beat working in an office.

* * * 

Two games later Dean was looking at a tidy stack of bills and had acquired a new best friend called Dainty Sinclair, whose enormous green eyes followed his every movement admiringly. Since Dainty was a strikingly pretty little blonde actress who seemed to think that he was the coolest thing in the history of ever, Dean figured he was two for two. He grinned across at Sam, and was pleased to see that his little brother was now talking to a cute brunette. Dean raised his beer in a victory salute, and Sam smiled back, looking slightly less stiff-necked than usual. The kid really, _really_ needed to get laid, reflected Dean fondly.

"So you about done here, champ? Or d'you think you're good enough to play with me?"

It was a girl's voice, and the inflection she gave to the last phrase got his attention straight away. Dean pulled his gaze back from the bar and gave a startled hiss of appreciation. LA really was a great city, and no mistake.

"Hell yes," he replied fervently, taking in the low slung black jeans, the tight red T shirt that hugged every sweet curve and revealed a tantalising flash of flat belly, the unapologetically unfeminine boots and the glossy tumble of brown curls that fell about her shoulders. He could play with this one all night, and then some. At his side Dainty made a petulant sound and Dean slung an arm around her waist in a quick squeeze of reassurance without taking his eyes of the brunette in front of him.

"Double or nothing?" she suggested, she tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Dean wondered what his chances might be of talking both girls into bed with him; from the way that this one was smiling at both him _and_ Dainty, he kinda thought they might be pretty damn good.

He loved LA. It was official.

"Sounds good to me," he said, treating her to his most irresistible smile and reaching out to shake her hand, because he really wanted a reason to touch her. "I'm Dean." Her hand was cool and her grip was surprisingly strong.

"Charity," said the brunette, with an unreadable quirk of her mouth. She took a slug of beer straight from the bottle, tipping her head back so that the shiny tangle of her hair swung out behind her. Dean watched the way her throat moved while she gulped down her drink and shifted slightly, feeling his pants growing noticeably tighter.

"Well all right," said Dean when she put down her bottle. He watched her wipe the back of her hand across her wet lips and felt something hungry and delighted uncurling in his belly. "I hope you're ready to put your money where your mouth is, sweetheart, because I am on a roll tonight."

"Fighting words," said Charity with a throaty chuckle and a gleam in her eye. "Let's see if you're half as good as you think you are."

* * * 

The final ball rolled into place with a profoundly satisfying thunk and Dean grinned across the table like a shark.

"Well, shit," said Charity, a dimple quivering roguishly at the corner of her mouth. "I guess you actually _are_ almost as good as you think you are, Tiger."

"Damn straight," agreed Dean, high on victory and beer and the bright unspoken promise of hot monkey sex with at least one beautiful woman. "Now I do hate to take money from a lady, but I believe we said double or nothing?"

"You've got me," said Charity ruefully, with a pout. Dean had a powerful urge to bite her lower lip, which he ignored with some difficulty. She dug her fingers into the back pocket of her jeans, tilting her pelvis a little and arching her back as she felt for the money, her gorgeous brown eyes fixed on him while she wriggled. Dean made a small strangled sound in the back of his throat and then tried to turn it into a cough. In an effort _not_ to stare at her gloriously bra-free breasts Dean glanced around for Dainty, and was a little disappointed to see her wrapped around some guy with a stupid beard over on the other side of the room. They were heading for the back door, unless he was very much mistaken. Dean had been pretty sure that Charity was flirting with Dainty too, from all the attention she was paying to the blonde and the way she ran her fingertips over her bare throat and down to tug at the neck of her T shirt like it was too hot, and then glanced coyly at Dainty through her lowered lashes...now that had been all kinds of fun to watch. But evidently Dainty had lost interest, damn it. Women, Dean reflected sadly, were fickle creatures. He mentally bid a reluctant farewell to the notion of a threesome.

Charity followed his gaze and her mouth tightened a little, although whether through jealousy or disappointment he couldn't begin to say.

"Here you go, Champ," she said, pressing the money into his hands. She was standing very close now, and she smelled - well, okay, she smelled a little like beer and cigarettes, but an awful lot like sex, and that was definitely working for Dean. "Count it?"

"No need, sweetheart. I trust you." He pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket, stuffed her handful of bills in without looking at them and then tucked the wallet back into his jacket. "You're not a sore loser?" he asked, his voice pitched a little deeper than usual. Charity was still only half a step away, and she had quite the most stunning smile he had ever seen.

"I've always had a weakness for a man who knows how to handle his, ah, cue," she breathed, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. "But I seem to have scared away your little friend. So - no hard feelings?"

Dean's eyes widened at her wicked expression, and he laughed out loud. "Well, I don't think that's exactly how I'd put it," he admitted, licking his lips.

"Good," said Charity, and the next thing he knew she was plastered up against him, her hands sliding around to his back, her wonderful breasts crushing into his chest and her firm flat belly pressed close enough to know precisely what kind of hard feelings he had. She kissed like it was a competitive sport, all hungry teeth and sweet wet tongue, and she tasted like beer and hard candy.

He almost felt guilty about having taken her money.

Almost.

When they came up for air, Charity gave a delighted gurgle of laughter and dug into her back pocket again. This time they were standing so close that her breasts brushed against his chest and Dean swallowed hard. He felt like a fucking school kid around this girl.

"Here you are, Tiger. You go get us a couple more beers, 'kay? My shout - it's the least I can do for scaring off your girlfriend. I'm just going to the little girls' room," she said, glancing around the bar searchingly and then looking back at Dean with that dazzling smile.

"Okay," agreed Dean, feeling almost dizzy with his great good luck, and he headed over to the bar clutching the bill she had just handed him and trying not to look obnoxiously self satisfied.

"You're on a real winning streak tonight," said Sam, looking mightily amused. He seemed to have managed to lose his girl already, Dean noticed. Typical.

"What can I tell you, Sammy? When you're hot, you're hot. And I, brother of mine, am on _fire_."

"Modesty has always been one of your strengths," Sam said solemnly. "I really admire that about you."

"Screw modesty! I am a god of pool and chicks dig me. AND I'm the fucking breadwinner in this family, so a little more respect would be in order," he added smugly, patting the pocket containing his bulging wallet. A moment later his face fell. "What the - oh _fuck_. Oh, no fucking _way_, man!" Dean rummaged in both his jacket pockets and then plunged his hands into the pockets of his jeans with an increasingly panicked expression. "Oh, you are fucking _kidding_ me!" He spun around on his heel and scanned the bar with an expression of incredulous fury.

"She picked your pocket?" Sam looked even more entertained by this turn of events, which was really fucking irritating, considering the boy wonder wasn't making any attempt to bolster the family fortunes himself. "Dude. She totally played you!"

"Fuck off," snarled Dean, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.

"Oh, wow. That is _hilarious!_"

"What part of all our money being stolen is hilarious, braintrust?" snapped Dean. "This is not fucking hilarious at all. This _sucks_!" He strode back towards the pool tables, practically vibrating with anger, and Sam loped along behind him, grinning. "Hey, you see a hot brunette in a tight red T shirt?" Dean asked a skinny guy who had been drinking next to the pool table.

"The one you just beat?"

"Yeah. You see where she went?"

"Out the back door, I think, man," said the guy, pointing.

"You're a prince," said Dean, darting off in the direction of the backdoor. He wove between the tables with a thoroughly grim expression on his face, and Sam followed along behind him, still grinning.

Outside the air felt blessedly cool after the bar's stuffy interior. They found themselves in an alley full of shadows and trash cans and the acrid stench of stale piss.

"What the hell?" exclaimed Dean a split second later, reflexively reaching for a gun that wasn't there. The smile slid off Sam's face at once. They appeared to have walked right into the mother of all fights, although it was kind of difficult to make out who was kicking whose ass in the shadows. "Hello?"

"Dean! Dean, help me!" Dainty sounded terrified as she ran towards him out of the darkness, and Dean reached out to catch her automatically. "Please help me? She's completely insane! She knocked Alex out cold, and she's trying to steal my purse!"

"Oh, you are a piece of work, lady," said Dean, pushing the blonde behind him and stepping deeper into the alley. He was damned if he was going to let Charity get away with this shit.

"Fucking interfering _amateurs_," Charity spat, sounding totally disgusted, and strode towards them with a spring in her step. She was holding what looked, bafflingly, like half a pool cue. "Get away from them, bitch."

Dean stared, keeping himself between the two women. "What, robbery not enough for you? You looking to pick a fight? Honey, you need to back off right now. And you need to give me my wallet back," said Dean. He really didn't want to hit her, because at the end of the day she was a girl. A hot girl. Whom he had, until a few minutes ago, been cherishing some rather fond expectations of fucking. And, anyway, you definitely weren't supposed to hit girls. Monsters shaped like girls were more of a grey area, but he was pretty sure that didn't apply in this case.

"Dean!" Sam's warning came just a hair's breadth too late, and then Dean found himself, to his utter astonishment, with his arm twisted up behind his back and his head yanked to one side by someone small and quite astonishingly strong. "What the fuck?" exclaimed Sam, and that was just exactly what Dean was thinking himself.

"I'll rip his throat right out," said dainty little Dainty, her mouth very close to his ear. She sounded like she meant it.

Charity didn't look particularly surprised, or particularly impressed. She tossed the piece of wood from one hand to the other, looking almost bored. "Honey, you're assuming that I actually _give_ a shit what you do to him. Not smart."

"Okay, well this sucks," said Dean, discovering that it was possible to be even more pissed after all. "Next time we go to Disneyland. And you're paying, Sammy."

Dean was braced for Sam's attack, and he wrenched himself out of Dainty's grip at the moment when she was distracted, rolling as soon as he hit the ground and then bouncing up onto the balls of his feet and grabbing a length of pipe out of the gutter.

"What the fuck are you, then, Blondie?" he asked; but even as the words were leaving his mouth Charity was closing the distance towards Dainty and slamming the wooden stick into her back.

And then Dainty exploded into a shower of dust, and Sam was left grappling air, and the momentum carried him right into Charity's arms.

"Huh," said Dean, looking down at the dust and then back up at Charity and Sam. "Didn't see that coming." He watched Sam untangle himself from Charity, his blush visible even in the shadows, and after a moment Dean dropped the pipe onto the ground, concluding it was no longer needed. "Just what the hell was that thing?"

"Vampire," replied Charity matter-of-factly, brushing the dust off her clothes. Dean's eyes were drawn helplessly to the fascinating movement of her red T shirt as she slapped the dust away, and he swallowed hard. When he managed to look up at her face again, he was distinctly embarrassed to find her looking right at him with a knowing grin.

"Hang on," he said, as his brain caught up with the conversation. "Vampire? Bullshit."

Charity sighed. She looked suddenly tired. "Hi, welcome to the world. Vampires are real. Werewolves are real. Monsters and ghosties and goulies are..."

"I know _that_," snapped Dean. "But there's no fucking way that was a vampire. We've killed vampires before, and they sure as hell don't do that."

"The only way you can kill them is decapitation," agreed Sam. "Not a stake through the heart. Which is what you did just then, right?"

"Really?" Charity looked fascinated. "No shit? Huh. Well, I'm not from around here. That's how it works back home - stake, fire, decapitation, direct sunlight - it's all good." She stared at Dean, her expression thoughtful. "So you two - that was pretty amateurish. You aren't Slayers, are you? I mean, this isn't some kind of wacky universe where the Slayer is a guy, right?" She looked from one to another and raised her eyebrows ruefully. "...aaand you have no idea what I'm talking about, so I guess that's a no. Fine. So what are you, then? Because I've only been here a few weeks, but most people here don't know about all," she waved her hands in a gesture that tried to encompass the alleyway and the dust of a slain vampire and the whole conversation, "all this."

"Look, Little Miss Twenty Questions, how about you give me back _my wallet_ and then maybe we'll talk?" said Dean, carefully. He was still pissed, although it was kind of difficult to remember it with Charity pushing her hair out of her face like that to give him all her attention, and with the memory of how she tasted still fresh in his mind...

"Easy, Tiger! A girl's got to eat, you know! Nothing personal." She ducked her head like a naughty kid and looked up at him through those ridiculously thick eyelashes as she groped in her pocket for the wallet, and the smile she was casting at him made it just about impossible to stay pissed. He wasn't at all sure how he felt about it being 'nothing personal'.

"Thanks," he said gruffly as she handed over his wallet.

"You're welcome," she said, hooking her arm deftly around his and then linking her other arm with Sam. Dean shot Sam a helpless look, but Sam looked pretty much like he'd been hit by a steam roller and kind of enjoyed it. Which was about where Dean was at right now. "So you going to buy me another beer, then? 'Cause I think we need to talk. And I totally saved your asses just then."

"I - right. I guess - okay," said Dean, burningly conscious of her proximity and trying to process everything that had happened in the last five minutes. "Yeah. Beer would be good."

"And you must be Dean's boyfriend? Cousin? Brother? Best friend in all the world?"

"I'm Sam," said Sam, sounding slightly shell shocked. "I'm his brother."

"Cool. Oh - my name's Faith, by the way. I'm a vampire slayer. Or maybe _The_ Vampire Slayer in this universe. Since we're being all honest and shit."

Dean's head was spinning as they stepped back into the bar. Oh, he was in some serious trouble here, he realised, and it was far too late to do a damned thing about it.


	2. Eye of the Beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Faith picks the Winchesters' brains, and gets under their skin

Faith, who apparently killed vampires when she wasn't ripping off innocent pool sharks, was eyeing both Dean and Sam with a speculative gleam that made Dean feel distinctly nervous. And irritable. And horny.

"So you're, what, DIY Demon Hunters? Ghostbusters? Mulder and Scully? What do you do, Tiger? Scam them to death?"

Dean glared at her, and then glared even more when he noticed the big Cheshire Cat grin on Sam's face. "No, _Charity_," he said, pulling out each syllable of the name mockingly so that it stretched right out like taffy on a hot day. "We generally stick to guns, knives, salt and fire, maybe a little magic - whatever works." He looked her up and down and arched his eyebrow. "And you...poke them with wooden sticks, is that right?"

Faith grinned and took another swallow of her ice cold Bud. "Whatever works," she agreed easily. "But you two - you're both regular humans, right?"

"Yeah," said Dean, somewhat surprised.

Sam pulled a face, and Dean reminded himself again that Sammy wasn't quite a regular human after all. That still took some getting used to. "More or less," said Sam, and Faith's head snapped around at the note in his voice. She looked at him properly for the first time, openly appreciative in a way that made Dean bristle.

"You a witch, Sammy?" she guessed, and Sam's eyebrows quirked up towards his hairline.

"It's Sam," he said firmly. "And no."

"Werewolf?" she ventured, making the word sound surprisingly dirty. She licked her lips. "Does the full moon bring out the animal in you, _Sammikins?_"

"Again, no," said Sam, blushing slightly. Dean found that he really didn't much like the way Faith's attention had shifted so totally onto his little brother, or the way that Sam was smiling back at her in spite of himself. She really was quite appallingly hot, and she knew it, but Dean found himself increasingly tempted to strangle her.

"Vengeance demon? Vampire with a soul? Lawyer?"

"You sure got some interesting stories to tell, don't you, Sweetheart?" interrupted Dean as Sam gave a startled snort of laughter. Faith smiled at him sweetly, and a moment later Dean jumped as he felt the toe of her boot slide up against his calf. At least he assumed it was hers; he wouldn't entirely put it past Sam to screw with him, but they'd sworn off the practical jokes months back, and Sammy looked way too distracted right now to be pulling any of that crap.

"I sometimes get these - visions," said Sam, quietly. Dean stared at him. An exchange of information was all well and good - she was clearly not a proper civilian. But this was personal. Dean's scowl deepened.

"That would've been my next guess," Faith said with a shrug. "Migraine-inducing visions from the Powers That Be to help you find the monsters and save the day." She frowned slightly. "Although I'm pretty sure you have to be at least partly demonic yourself to bear that shit," she added thoughtfully. "Otherwise it drives you insane." She ignored the shocky silence that followed this announcement and shovelled a handful of peanuts into her mouth. "Leastways, that's how it works back home," she added around a mouthful of peanuts. "Might be different here, I guess."

"Who the fuck ARE you?" asked Dean, when he was capable of speech. Sam didn't say anything, but there was a frightened look in his eyes that Dean really didn't like one little bit, and he found himself shaking with the impulse to hit something.

An odd expression flickered over her face. Faith picked up a beer mat and started to idly rip little pieces from the edge. "In every generation one girl is Chosen, blah blah blah, magical superpowers blah blah blah kick demon ass blah blah blah no dental, no medical, no pension plan, no holidays, no choices, no gratitude, no fun, no freedom, no chance of reaching your thirtieth birthday." She beamed at them, her eyes a little too bright, something pained and dangerous in her smile. "I'm kind of a superhero," she said after a moment, looking from Dean to Sam as if daring them to contradict her. "Although I'm not real big on capes." She drew a deep breath, and then laughed softly to herself. When she looked at Dean again, her expression was tinged with self mockery. "Fighting for truth, justice and all that shit. It pretty much sucks, really. But I fucking _love_ the fighting part."

"A superhero," repeated Dean evenly, glancing over at Sam. "Ri-ight. Sure you are, cupcake." This time he knew it was her foot, because she kicked him in the shin. Hard. "Ow!"

"Don't make me angry, Tiger," purred Faith, leaning across the table and running a fingertip over the slick glass surface of his beer bottle. "You really won't like me when I'm angry."

Dean laughed out loud. "You planning on turning green and busting right out of your clothes? 'Cause I think I could live with that."

"Only if you're a very, very good boy," Faith replied, smiling up at him through her lashes as she snagged his Bud out from under his nose. This time it was Sam laughing out loud, but Dean was too busy appreciating the way Faith's throat moved as she chugged his beer to get seriously pissy about it. He simply swiped his brother's beer instead.

"Hey!" protested Sam, his laughter cutting off sharply. Dean just grinned and raised the bottle in a toast before bringing it to his lips.

"Fine, so superhero, whatever," said Sam, pointedly ignoring his brother and turning towards Faith. "What did you mean about not being from around here?"

Faith gave a luxurious full-body stretch, all lazy catlike grace, and her red T shirt rode up high to reveal her belly button. Her breasts jiggled distractingly against the thin fabric, and it was impossible to avoid noticing that her nipples were hard. Dean swallowed, and dragged his eyes back up to her face with a remarkable effort of will. "Different dimension," she said, trying to sound casual. Her voice shook very slightly. "Or maybe an alternative Universe or _some_ freaky magic thing. That's not really my bag - we have people who do the bibbidy bobbidy boo stuff. They could tell you. Key point - I was there, but now I'm here. We've been wiping the floor with the demons lately - it's kind of a long story, end of the world stuff, witches and goddesses and some serious big ass evil, but we - well, B - well, _we_ won. So now this one crazy vampire chick decides that it's time to find a new home, and she opens some kind of door to another universe and waltzes off through it. And a whole lot of other nasties follow her, because our world has kind of stopped being an all-you-can-eat Demon buffet now that all the potentials are Slayers. Took us a while to hear about it, but once we did we sent a party to deal with it." She knocked back the last of her the beer and then looked at the empty bottle glumly. "That's me. Only it kind of got fucked up, because when the portal closed...I was on the wrong side."

Sam stared at her. "I'm sorry," he said, keeping his voice level with what looked like some difficulty. "Are you telling us that a whole load of, of _monsters_ from _another dimension_ are wandering around LA? Monsters we've never seen before? Monsters Dad didn't even know _existed_?"

Faith raked a hand through her air. "Yep," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "That's about the shape of it. Fun, isn't it?"

"No," said Sam with feeling.

"You got a pretty messed up idea of fun, sweetheart," agreed Dean, remembering too many things best forgotten, or better never known at all.

Faith grinned. "You don't know the half of it," she said. "So, look boys, here's the thing. This place looks a lot like home, but it _isn't_ home. I mean, it's not Bizarro World, but there's some really messed up shit. Ghosts. Weird stuff. It's kind of a relief whenever I spot a regular vamp and get a little one-on-one. Or one-on-five, if I'm real lucky." The look she gave Dean at this point made his mouth go dry. "I've been looking around, checking out the sewers, trying to find the local demon bars - but nothing. Nada. Zip. So - could you maybe hook a girl up? 'Cause I need to find this one particular vamp, see, the one who made the portal. It's - kind of urgent. Then everything's cool, and I'll be able to go home." She emptied the last few peanuts into her palm and tipped them into her mouth, then glanced from one Winchester to the other, her brown eyes huge and her thick eyelashes fluttering as she licked the salt from her lips. Her face fell a little as she took in their stunned expressions. "What?"

"Demons _have their own bars_ in your world," choked Dean, staring. "Lady, you cannot possibly be for real."

Faith stared back, and then looked at Sam. Her shoulders slumped. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "Right. Well I guess that explains why I haven't been able to find one." She stared blindly at the table for a moment, and Dean was startled by how young and alone she looked all of a sudden. This girl just kept right on surprising him. She glanced up, and when she saw him watching her the Fuck You smile snapped back into place and she stuck her chin out pugnaciously. "Fine. I can deal. Looks like you boys can't help me any, though," she said, dismissively, pushing her chair away from the table in one swift movement. "It's been a blast." She leaned quickly in and kissed Dean on the forehead, like a mom kissing her kid goodnight. The unexpected chasteness of the gesture, combined with the fact that it brought her breasts up close and personal for a second, left Dean gaping like a goldfish. She pulled away and he watched her turn to Sam, expecting to see her plant a similarly innocent kiss on his brow, and so he was startled afresh when she took Sam's face in her hands, brought her mouth to his lips and kissed him like she meant it. At length. Sam didn't seem to have any idea what to do with his hands; for a long moment they just flailed in the air, and then Faith lowered herself down to straddle his lap and Sam gave in, one hand sliding down to her waist and the other burying itself in the mass of dark hair at the nape of her neck.

Dean felt a twinge of something that couldn't possibly be jealousy, because when was he ever jealous of his baby brother's luck with women. Never. Not ever.

It looked like she liked Sam better than him after all, though; the kid was taller, smarter, more polite and he wasn't bad looking either. Plus he had the whole magical vision thing going on. Dean - Dean was just the schmuck with the wallet. Fine. Whatever. Not like he gave a shit, after all.

They looked pretty good together.

"Sheesh, get a freaking _room_, you guys," said Dean, at last, and Faith pulled away and looked over her shoulder.

She winked at him. "Just evening up the score," she said, as she stood back up. "You boys should look me up if you're ever in my universe. We could have some fun." She shimmied, her teasing smile quite impossible to read, both mocking and promising at the same time. "Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight." And with that she turned on her heel and strode off without a single glance back. They both watched her go, enjoying the way her confident strut made her ass move.

"She take your wallet?" asked Dean, his eyes still following Faith.

"Yes," said Sam, sounding supremely unsurprised. They watched her vanish into the crowd. "But it was worth it."

Dean glanced at him and tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in his throat. Instead he said, "You think she's for real?"

"Yes," said Sam after a moment. "I think maybe I do."

Dean nodded. "Me too. In which case - well, shit, man. Life just got a whole lot more complicated, and I didn't think that was even _possible_."

"I know what you mean." Sam pushed the scraps of shredded beer mat around the table. "D'you think she'll be okay," he asked, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. "I kind of feel like we should have helped her out more, you know?"

"She's a superhero, according to her," said Dean, not wanting to admit that he was asking himself the very same question. Demon bars. What the hell kind of place _was_ her world anyway?

"I suppose so," agreed Sam. He chewed his lower lip and then looked unhappily at Dean. "But she's all alone. And she's just a kid."

"Yeah," said Dean, looking back with the exact same expression of mingled guilt and worry on his own face.

* * * 

"Fuck off, buddy. I'm not turning tricks."

"That's not what I heard," said Dean, trying not to grin too much. He was stupidly pleased to see her.

Faith turned and actually looked at the car at the sound of his voice and her face lit up for a moment. "Hey, Tiger! Nice wheels!"

"Thanks," said Dean, unexpectedly pleased. He did love his car. "Look - you got a place to stay?"

"Sure," she said, her face closing up quickly. "I'm good. Five by five."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, and then at her. "Bullshit," said Dean, shortly. "Get in."

Faith stood quite still, staring at his face as if trying to read something in a foreign language. "I don't need your help," she said at last. "I don't need anyone's help. I can look after myself. I'm not real good at playing with the other kids."

"Yeah, me neither," said Dean. "Now shut the fuck up and get in."

"Is this about the wallet?" she asked suddenly, her eyes darting to Dean and then to Sam and then back to Dean as she shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. She had her arms crossed in front of her. It was kind of cold out, and she didn't have a jacket.

"It's not about the wallet," said Sam kindly, because with her arms wrapped around herself and the wind tugging her hair around she looked very small and young and far from home, no matter what she said about being a badass monster killer. "I'm not pissed about the wallet. Look, Faith, just get in, okay? We've got a room in a motel - you can have my bed and I'll bunk with Dean tonight. It'll be cool."

"Is this some kind of kinky threesome fantasy thing?" asked Faith, eyeing them both narrowly.

"No!" they both exclaimed.

Faith shrugged. "Pity," she said. "So what do you get out of this, then?"

"Peace of mind? The glow of having done a good deed? The chance to meet interesting new monsters and kill them? Look, kid, just get in the car, okay? We'll help you find your vampire." In another minute Dean was fixing to get out of the car, pick her up physically and shove her in the back seat himself.

"Can I ride shotgun?"

"No," said Sam and Dean together again.

Faith pouted. "Pretty please?"

"Just get _in_ already, before I change my mind," said Dean.

"God, you really are big on orders, aren't you?" she said, opening the door.

"You'd better believe it," agreed Sam, with feeling.

"Yeah, like you ever fucking _follow_ them," protested Dean, and he reached over and smacked Sam upside the head, grinning like an idiot as Faith slid into the back seat and slammed the door behind her.

Life, he reflected, had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.


	3. Enter Sandman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Faith, Sam and Dean do NOT have hot, sweaty monkey sex

It wasn't the first time that Sam's nightmares had dragged Dean straight into wakefulness; years of training had pretty much ensured that he would snap awake and have a gun in his hand within seconds if a dog sneezed suspiciously outside the window. It was, however, the first time in quite a while that he'd shared a bed with his brother, so it was a slightly different experience this time around, and involved a little more getting punched in the face than usual.

Dean's fingers closed over Sam's fist even before he'd woken up properly. "Sam. Sammy. Sam, it's okay, bro," whispered Dean, trying to still Sam's twitching limbs blindly with his free hand while firmly clasping the fist that had just smashed into his nose. Damn, his face hurt. "Ssh, Sam. Wake up, dude. Sammy. It isn't real," Dean promised him raggedly, wondering whether this was true and hoping like hell it was. What a fucking hideous thing to have your nightmares come literally true. Jesus. Poor kid.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was hoarse and lost and it cut Dean to the quick.

"I'm here," he said, lacing his fingers through the fingers of Sam's loosening fist and squeezing it reassuringly. "I'm here, Sam. It's okay." Although it wasn't okay, really, but it was about as close as it ever got to okay in their family, and that would have to do.

"You boys need a little more privacy?" Faith's voice was husky with sleep, and surprisingly loud in contrast to their whispers. "I'd suggest you get a room but, you know, you already did."

"Oh, Christ. Sorry," said Sam, curling up miserably with his back to Dean, staring blindly towards the wall. Dean glanced over his shoulder, faintly making out Faith's profile and the dark curves of her body shrouded by blankets, and fiercely wished they'd never met her. Sam didn't need an audience right now.

"S'okay, babe," said Faith, more gently than Dean was expecting. That earned her a few extra points, and he felt guilty for wishing her at the bottom of the ocean. It was - odd, having a third person. A third person who wasn't Dad. "How you doing over there?"

Sam hunched in on himself. "Fine. I'm fine. Christ. Sorry, it was just a nightmare. Wow. Way to feel like a five year old."

Faith's laughter was throaty and still thick with sleep. "Did you wet the bed?"

"No!" exclaimed Sam, straightening up indignantly, and Dean came close to laughing himself.

"Then you're five by five," murmured Faith, easily. "Don't sweat it. Hell, a girl shares a room with two hot guys, she doesn't exactly expect to get a night's unbroken sleep. And I'm not used to not putting out on the first date." There was a little pause, and then she asked more seriously, "Was it a vision kind of nightmare? Or the regular kind?" Which was just exactly what Dean was wondering himself.

"Just a memory," said Sam, his voice harsh. Jess, thought Dean, feeling helpless and furious about it. "Just a fucking _memory_." He still hadn't let go of Dean's hand, and after a moment or two of considering whether it would be weird, Dean snuggled up closer to Sam's spine and wrapped his arm around his little brother, their tangled fingers resting against Sam's chest. Some of the tension drained out of Sam's body at the contact, and Dean was glad he'd guessed right for once, even though Sam felt like a fucking furnace pressed up against him. "Dean," whispered Sam, when Dean just about thought the kid had gone to sleep. "Did I hurt you?" he asked in a small, guilty voice. Dean felt a rush of sheer fucking love that was almost painful and his throat closed up for a moment. This, right now, was like all the nights when they were kids doubled up in one bed while Dad slept in the other; back before Sam had to start disagreeing with everything Dad said, and objecting to perfectly reasonable orders, and growing so fucking tall. Back when things were simpler, and they were a proper family. Kind of. Sometimes he missed that so bad he could taste it.

"Nah," he said, when he could trust himself to speak. "You were always a fucking pain to share the bed with. Man, I used to wake up hanging half off the edge of the bed with you sprawling right across it, with your fucking _feet_ in my _face_. You're damn lucky I didn't suffocate you with a pillow before you turned six." His voice was gruff and pissy-sounding, but he kept his arm slung around Sam's waist and his fingers tightly entwined with Sam's fingers and tried to will his little brother into knowing that anything, anything at all that wanted to hurt Sam Winchester was going to have to go through his big brother first.

"Right," said Sam. "Sorry."

"If you apologise again, I'm going to suffocate you myself," murmured Faith sleepily. "Don't make me get my pillow and come smother you, Buckaroo. I might enjoy it too much."

"Promises, promises," said Dean, carefully not thinking of how very naked Faith was under a couple of blankets and Sam's borrowed T shirt. And only a few feet away. Hot damn. He had harboured fond hopes of spending the night wrapped around a hot, sweaty body, but it definitely hadn't been his brother's he'd had in mind. And there was the girl herself a few feet away, hot as hell and twice as flirty, and somehow she'd gone from potential one-night stand to some kind of vampire slaying Little Orphan Annie to be taken under the Winchester family wing. Sure as hell hadn't seen that coming.

But, damn, she _was_ still all kinds of hot. And then some. Damn it. He shifted a little to make sure his lower body didn't brush against Sam, because he really wasn't ready for the teasing - or, worse, awkwardness - that _that_ would occasion.

"G'night John Boy. G'night Billy Bob," murmured Faith from the shadows, and Dean grinned in spite of himself.

"G'night, Ma," he whispered back, feeling unaccountably happy.

Family.

Yeah.


	4. For Whom The Bell Tolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the gang hit the road in search of Drusilla

The sound of someone showering while Sammy tapped away on his laptop reminded Dean inescapably of Dad. If he closed his eyes he could pretend that Sam was a snotty seventeen year old earnestly doing his homework across the room and worrying about his grades. Not that he had needed to worry about them; academic stuff had always come pretty naturally to Sam.

But when Faith emerged from the bathroom in a billow of steam, with water beading her bare shoulders and her hair slicked back and dripping, any thoughts of John Winchester fled. Dean stood up quickly, and then wondered why he'd stood up, because he didn't really know what to do next. Generally when mostly-naked women stepped out of the bathroom, he had already gotten to see them naked, and probably had the option of seeing them naked again. And generally his baby brother wasn't there with him. He poked Sam in the shoulder, and Sam glanced up and swallowed, and then closed the laptop and stood up rather hurriedly. It was nice to see that Dean wasn't the only one unsure how to handle this.

"Hi, boys," said Faith. She looked from Dean to Sam and then back again and gave a snort of laughter. "Wow, this morning-after thing feels kind of weird without the actual sex, huh?" Dean made a small choking sound in spite of himself. "So who's going to lend me a shirt? And maybe a pair of underwear?"

"I ca-" began Sam, but Dean was already half-way to their bags.

"I've got it, Sammy," he said, hunkering down and rummaging for a minute. "Guess you haven't done much shopping since you arrived?"

"Damn, I _knew_ I'd forgotten something! I keep meaning to pop down to Rodeo Drive, but there have been so many dinners with Donald Trump and cocktail parties with Paris Hilton, I just haven't gotten around to it," said Faith.

Dean grinned, and yanked out something white. "Dress shirt. Makes me look like Mr Pink, or some stupid fucking thing. But it's clean. Come in handy a few times." He tossed it on the bed, contemplated the ratty condition of his own underwear for half a minute and then opened Sam's bag instead. "Underwear. Not exactly 'Victoria's Secret', but I guess it'll do. Don't think Sammy's your cup size, though, Sweetheart. He's still in a training bra," he added, and Sam smacked him upside the head. Dean promptly hooked Sam's knee out from under him, and finished zipping up the bag quickly while Sam overbalanced, his arms windmilling.

"What is this, Laurell and Hardy?" asked Faith, watching Dean hop out of the way as Sam scrambled to his feet and lunged at him. Dean tossed the little square of neatly folded cotton towards her and dodged out of the way, and for a moment the two brothers faced off, muscles tense, ready to lunge at any minute. Dean had a huge grin on his face. Sam just looked annoyed.

"C'mon, Sammy," said Dean, his tone every bit the patronising older sibling. "Stop monkeying around. Can't you see the lady wants to get dressed?" Sam flushed at that, and glanced at Faith, who nodded and plucked at the top of her towel. "Well grab a bag, can't you? We might as well get the car loaded up while she's getting changed." Sam eyed him with evident suspicion, but reached down and hefted the two bags anyway. Dean opened the door for him, shaking his head. "Honest, kids today," he said, sounding very world-weary.

"So help me, Dean, I'm going to stuff this bag down your _throat_ in a minute," muttered Sam, with feeling.

"See you in a minute, Sweetheart," said Dean, following him out into the parking lot cheerfully.

"Do you think maybe just once you could try not to be a total asshole?" asked Sam, glaring.

Dean shrugged. "Nope," he said.

"Fine. Whatever," sighed Sam. They stashed the bags in the trunk. Dean leaned back against the Impala and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Feels weird, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," said Sam, with a short laugh. "It's - yeah. Weird."

They both stared at the peeling green paint of their door for a minute or two in silence.

"So you find anything?" Dean asked at last.

Sam stood up straighter. "Yes, actually. There wasn't time to do a proper search, but I found some things that fit with what she's described. The beginning of a pattern, maybe. Looks like she's telling the truth."

"I was afraid of that," said Dean. "Shit, Sammy. There's no fucking section of Dad's book for _monsters from another dimension_. I don't like not knowing what's out there, or how to kill it."

Sam nodded. "That thing last night," he said after a moment, "it looked human in the bar."

"You're telling me!"

"Yeah, but in the alley, when she grabbed you, her face changed. You couldn't see it because she was behind you, but she looked all," he waved his hand vaguely in front of his face, "weird."

"Can we be a little more specific here?"

"Scary teeth, and her forehead got sort of bumpy, like a Klingon or something, and her eyes were - it was like when that thing was in Dad," he said at last, reluctantly.

"Oh," said Dean. He wasn't smiling any more.

"What are you losers waiting for?" Faith was holding the bag of toiletries in one hand and the laptop in the other, and she had Dean's jacket slung over her shoulders. "We good to go?"

"Get in," said Dean, trying to smile.

"Shotgun!" she sang out, handing the bag and the laptop to Sam and then grabbing his waist and standing on her tiptoes to lean up into his face, her eyes imploring and her nose wrinkling irresistibly. "Shotgun shotgun shotgun shotgun!" Sam clutched the laptop to his chest and tried not to laugh. "Go on, Sam, you know you want to! Let me ride up front this time? Please? Just as far as breakfast? Pretty please?"

"God, you're incorrigible! Okay, okay, fine. Whatever," agreed Sam, helplessly.

"Cool!" she sprang away from him and was in the front seat of the Impala within seconds, rifling through Dean's tapes.

"Wow. You sure you're not a vampire, Tiger?" she demanded, fixing a quizzical eye on Dean and fingering a cassette tape.

"What? No! What?"

"'Cause most of us humans have embraced the 21st Century. CDs, MP3 players. _Technology_, Tiger. Look it up." Dean scowled, but in the back seat Sam was snorting with laughter.

"Yeah? Well I don't exactly see you laden down with cell phones and iPods and shit, _Charity_," retorted Dean. "'Sides, it's my car and I like tapes. You don't like tapes, get your own fucking car." He flicked a switch and a moment later Metallica filled the car. He waited for her to start bitching about the music and demanding some R&amp;B crap instead, but when he ventured a sideways glance she was peering out of the window with her head bobbing in time to the music.

Huh.

"So you got a plan?" Dean asked, as he pulled out onto the main road.

"I was pretty much thinking I'd find Drusilla, beat her up, get her to tell me how to open the portal and then stake her," said Faith. She breathed onto the window and drew a little heart in the patch of fog. Then she drew a stake piercing it.

"How's that plan working out for you so far, Sweetheart?" asked Dean.

"Not great," she admitted. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"While you were in the shower I did some checking on the 'net," said Sam, leaning forward as he spoke. "Looks like there's a pattern of missing people and murder victims with neck wounds that kind of scream 'vampire'."

"Well, duh," said Faith.

"I can maybe figure out where she's been - or at least, where these new vampires have been. But if there's more than just her, I've got no way of knowing which kills are hers."

"Anything you can tell us about this Drusilla?" asked Dean, scanning the horizon for a Denny's or a MickyD's. "Some kind of clue where she'd go next?"

Faith gnawed contemplatively on a fingernail. "Well, she's nuttier than monkeyshit, I can tell you that. And old enough to be smart - couple hundred years old, I guess, something like that. The stupid ones get weeded out pretty quick." She drummed her fingers absently on the dash in time to the song. "She's English. Dark hair. Skinny as a rail. Oh!" Faith glanced in the mirror, meeting Sam's eyes. "And she's psychic. Visions and shit. But she's seriously, major league crazy." There was a little pause while Dean and Sam digested this, then Faith added, "Plus she's kind of the reason I'm a Slayer."

"What do you mean, exactly?" asked Sam.

"Kill a slayer in New York and another one pops up in Paris. We're kind of a one-at-a-time deal. Or we were. The last Slayer buys it and then tag, you're it. Anyway, she killed the one before me." She stared out of the window. "I wonder if they make a card for that? 'Thanks for the Superpowers, Bitch. RIP."

"Niche market," said Dean.

"I guess. Hey! McDonalds!" For a few minutes they sat quietly. "You know what's funny?" said Faith, as they drew into the parking lot. "Some things are exactly the same - like MickyD's, and Metallica, and Days of Our Lives. But then suddenly you'll bump into a gap - some person who never got famous here, or maybe their mom and dad never got together so they never even got born. Or a movie that was huge here and never got made back home. Shit like that. Sunnydale - this place I know - it doesn't even exist in this universe." She swallowed, and her voice sounded tight. "The guy who built it - well, he never had a reason to build it here, because the rules are different."

"That must be freaky," said Dean, uncurling his fingers from the handbrake and pushing his door open.

"It is. I keep expecting to see people I know here. Only - they'd be different."

"That's a good point, though," said Sam excitedly, scrambling out of the back seat with the lap top slung over his shoulder. "Is there anyone this Drusilla would go looking for? A lover? An enemy? Someone she'd want to find?"

Faith ruffled a hand through her drying hair and closed her car door, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Spike wouldn't have ever been vamped, so he's long dead. Same goes for Angel and Darla."

"That everyone?" asked Dean as they paced towards the brightly coloured building.

Faith chewed her bottom lip for a moment, and then her eyes went wide and she stopped walking. "Buffy," she said, looking shocked. "I'm a fucking idiot. She'd go after Bee."


	5. The Thing That Should Not Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is research, and a surprising discovery.

Dean watched Faith pacing back and forth between rows of book shelves and wondered what the story was with this Buffy chick. She really seemed to have gotten Faith antsier than he'd seen her yet.

"Well, she's not coming up as a missing person or a murder victim, so I don't think we're too late," said Sam, his fingers flickering over the keyboard. "Summer. Summers. Anything else you can give me?"

Faith raked her fingers through her dark hair, looking a little frayed around the edges. "She's about 25 or 26, I guess? Blonde hair, green eyes, skinny little bit of a thing. She used to live in LA, and the reasons why she left - well, they wouldn't have happened here. And anyway, there isn't any Sunnydale to go to." It was the same thing she'd said before, almost word for word, and her frustration showed in her voice. "I don't _know_ damn it. I know she was at High School in LA, but I don't know where. I think she was a cheerleader. She burned the gym down at her old school, or something like that - but I guess that probably wouldn't have happened here either. Fuck." She kicked the end of the bookshelf irritably, and Dean was startled to see and hear it shift back several inches.

"Woah!" said Dean, raising both hands with his palms up and staring at Faith. Sam glanced back over his shoulder, looking momentarily baffled by the noise. Superpowers. Right. "Burned the gym down?" Dean ventured, after an awkward pause. "She sounds like quite a character."

Faith flung herself into one of the empty chairs, her expression difficult to read. "She's a smug, stuck up, boring little miss goody goody with a stick up her ass," she snapped. "She wouldn't know a good time if it bit her."

"Okaaay," said Dean, perching on the edge of a table and studying Faith thoughtfully. "Close friend of yours?"

"It's - complicated," replied Faith, after a moment. She caught his eye and, unexpectedly, laughed. "Wow. She can still fuck with my head when we're not even in the same universe. Yeah. Complicated." She gazed in the middle distance and a rueful expression crossed her face. "Bee's a pro. Most slayers - we don't last very long. Couple years if you're lucky, and then you're monster chow. But she's been doing this gig ten years now and looks set to keep on going like the fucking Energizer Bunny. Keeps right on saving the world like clockwork."

"Thought you said the girl before you died," said Dean, frowning.

Faith shrugged. "She did. Buffy's the girl _before_ the girl before me. And she did die, couple of times. But she got better." She shook her head, her mouth twisting into a rueful smile. "Got to give a girl props for that, I guess."

"Buffy Summers?" said Sam, and Faith's head snapped around. "Daughter of Henry and Joyce?" She bounded over to his side and draped herself over his shoulder, peering at the screen.

"Joyce, yeah! That's Bee!"

"Says here she graduated from High School with honours, went to Law School and now she's working for - well, would you look at that. Huh. These are the guys I was supposed to have an interview with, back when, you know," Dean's ears pricked up at the sudden tension in Sam's voice. "Before Jess died." Dean reached out automatically and squeezed Sam's shoulder.

"Fuck me," breathed Faith, staring at the screen and ignoring the brothers completely. "She's working for _Wolfram and Hart_."

* * * 

"That her?"

Faith was relegated to the back of the Impala again, and kind of grouchy about it. She had pressed herself right up into the space between the two front seats, her hair falling forward to brush Dean's shoulders. She smelled of cheap soap and borrowed toothpaste and warm girl, and the fact that she was making absolutely no attempt to flirt with either of them right now was oddly distracting in itself.

"I don't - I'm not sure," said Faith, staring fixedly at a tiny blonde in a business suit, who was clutching a briefcase in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other. She wore her hair in a neat and glossy bob, and the charcoal suit, with its buttoned-up white blouse and vivid silk scarf, had that indefinable air of having cost more than some people made in a year. She had a pair of glasses with angular designer frames perched on her little button nose, and was talking animatedly to a guy in a suit who didn't look much older than her. Fucking corporate sharks, both of them, thought Dean, shuddering at the prospect of Sammy ever becoming part of something like this. "I guess so," said Faith, tentatively.

"Look, how well do you know this chick?" demanded Dean, glancing from the blonde to Faith and back again.

"I know her! We're - she - we've got a lot of history. I know Bee better than she knows herself," snapped Faith, looking stung. "Only - only she never looked like that," she added uncertainly. "But it's her. It's who she became here." She shook her head. "That is some messed up shit right there."

"Okay. So she's not been eaten up by the big bad vampires yet," said Sam. "That's good. Now we just need to keep tabs on her and jump on this Drusilla when she shows up, right?"

"I guess," agreed Faith, drumming her fingers on the back of Dean's chair and frowning. "But if Buffy's with _Wolfram and Hart_, and BFF with Lindsey McDonald...that changes things. They're kind of the bad guys, back home. Pan-Dimensional Demon Law Firm. I know the rules are different in this reality, but you still have demons and monsters and weird shit. If they've got a branch here - she probably doesn't need our help. Hell, her blood's probably poisonous. Drusilla probably needs protecting from _her_." She was staring out the window with an intensity that Dean really didn't understand, like she didn't know whether to be excited or upset.

"She's cute," he offered, and was startled by the look that she shot him in return.

"Don't even think about it, Tiger," she said, and there was on mistaking the threat in her eyes.

"Hey, chill, sweetheart! Don't get your panties in a bunch. You're still my favourite."

She rolled her eyes. "Looks like she can maybe take care of herself after all. But I think this is still a good place to start looking for Drusilla. She'd have a score to settle with Buffy, and she knows Lindsey. I think she's still in LA."

"They've spotted us," muttered Sam. Dean glanced back across the road and saw that the two lawyers were eyeing the car with cold curiosity. "Dean, c'mon, let's go. Now."

"I thought you nearly went for an interview with these guys?" said Dean, as he pulled away from the curb.

"Which part of 'Pan Dimensional Demon Law Firm' did you not hear?" snapped Sam.

"Fine, fine, whatever, Sammy. Keep your hair on."

"Just drive."


	6. Jump In The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Dean and Faith break into the offices of a Pan-Dimensional Law Firm.

"I can't believe you seriously wanted to be a lawyer," muttered Dean, looking for someplace to park. He shook his head and glanced over at Sam.

"I didn't know it was a _demonic_ law firm," said Sam through gritted teeth. Sam looked perfectly at home in a suit. Dean looked like he'd stolen his suit from somebody else's washing line; distractingly, the shirt still smelled faintly of Faith. And Faith herself - Faith, in the little black dress and matching hose and kitten heels that Dean's plastic had paid for, looked like sex on a stick. Expensive sex on a stick. But Dean really didn't want to crash into anything, so he was trying hard not to gaze at her in the rearview mirror. But he knew that she was there, and that she cleaned up very well indeed. Hot damn.

"That's _so_ not the point, bro," he continued. "You'd have chosen to wear a fucking monkey suit and play at shuffling around bits of paper instead of life on the road doing stuff that matters? Man, I will never get you."

"Fuck off," said Sam evenly.

"Make me."

"Boys, boys, try to play nice. I don't want to have to spank you both," purred Faith, and Dean nearly crashed the car anyway.

"I really don't know if this is a good idea," said Sam, glancing over his shoulder at Faith. "I mean - Demon Law Firm. That's not good. Are you sure you know what you're walking into?"

She treated him to the dazzling devil-may-care smile that they were both learning to recognise and dread. "Don't sweat it, Junior. We'll breeze in, check some stuff out, breeze out again. I just need to find out if they know about Dru, is all. Bee's still walking around, so either Dru hasn't made her move yet, or else she made a move and they dusted her. Or else they made her into their number one new client and put her up in a swanky hotel with hot and cold running blood. There's just too much that we don't know yet." She shrugged. "It's cool, Sammy. I'm good at this shit."

Dean raised an eyebrow as he pulled into a parking space. "I thought you were more into the shake'n'stake side of the operation? Not so much the stealthy stuff?" he said, looking at her reflection dubiously.

"Hey, Tiger, I got mad skills," she said, and winked. "Beside, where's the fun in always playing safe?"

"A girl after my own heart," said Dean, stepping out of the car. He started when she slapped his ass, though.

"It's not your _heart_ I'm after, stud," she called back over her shoulder, and then she was strutting off down the street like she broke into Demonic Law Firms every day. Dean's mouth was dry. He blamed it on the little black dress, and on the knowledge of precisely how small the scraps of black lace and satin underneath it were; he'd paid for them himself a couple of hours earlier, when Sam had tactfully pointed out that maybe bralessness didn't project quite the kind of professional image they were going for. (To be strictly accurate, Dean had helped the credit card company to pay for them, but Dean wasn't one to dwell on such niceties.)

Dean met his brother's eye and an expression of perfect sympathy passed between them. "Try to stay out of trouble," said Sam, not looking terribly optimistic about his prospects.

"Yeah, yeah. Man, she's something, isn't she?" said Dean. "You sure you'll be okay here, Sammy?" He was still slightly torn about leaving Sam.

Sam nodded impatiently. "Go. If you don't hurry, she'll go in there on her own."

Which was probably about right. Dean had refused flatly to take Sam into the lion's den when they'd been trying to _recruit_ him and probably knew perfectly well what he looked like. But, damn, he'd rather have Sam at his back. He really fucking hoped Faith had some idea of what she was doing. "Wait up," he yelled, already feeling irritated.

He caught up just before she rounded the corner, and almost slammed into her when she stopped short. She turned around and looked him up and down real slow and deliberate, then stepped into his personal space and adjusted his tie to her liking. If Dean's pulse was a little faster than usual, that was just because he'd been running. Mostly because he'd been running. "Am I going too fast for you, Tiger?" she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

"Honey, it's a miracle nobody has killed you before now," Dean said with feeling, taking a half step backwards.

"Oh, they've tried," said Faith. Her nostrils flared and she glanced away for a moment. "Bee came pretty fucking close, too."

"I'm liking this girl more by the minute," said Dean, pulling his tie back to where it was before. "Man, I bet you were hell on wheels when you were in school. Your parents must have had one hell of a time with you."

Faith took an involuntary step back. "What have my folks got to do with anything?"

"Nothing," said Dean, surprised. "I just - hey, calm down. I just meant - "

"Family's overrated," snapped Faith.

"Family's the most important thing there is," said Dean, crossing his arms in front of him. "Family's the only thing that really matters."

"That's bull. You can't pick your family, so don't go all Brady Bunch with me, buster. You never _met_ my old man and you don't know shit about my family. You don't know shit about me."

They stared at each other with bristling dislike for a moment, and then Dean shrugged and looked away. "Whatever. I'm not arguing about what's important with some chick from another dimension. Hell, for all I know they all have three heads in your world and you're a lone one-headed freak."

The tension eased out of Faith's shoulders and she laughed. "That's right, Tiger. Back home I'm famous for my head."

"God give me strength," muttered Dean, rolling his eyes and wishing once again that he was with Sam instead.

"C'mon, slowpoke. We've got crime to do," said Faith, grabbing his hand and hauling him around the corner with a surprising degree of force. She dropped his hand once she'd got him moving, and headed straight for the main entrance of the Law Firm. Dean followed her through the elegant doors and into the light, airy foyer of the building, glancing around as casually as he could to try to take in all the possible directions from which they could be attacked. He felt pretty damned exposed just waltzing into a Pandimensional Demon Law Firm through the front entrance. Faith made a beeline for the security desk and it was all Dean could do to keep up with her. He did enjoy the view, though.

"Cordelia Chase and Wesley Wyndham Price," said Faith, dimpling at the security guard. "From Sunnydale Investments. Here to see Buffy Summers in the Special Projects Division?"

Dean bit his tongue and held his breath, maintaining his bland expression with some difficulty. When they'd discussed this part, he thought he'd been pretty clear on the whole _letting him do the talking_ part.

Women.

"Floor Fourteen," said the guard, waving them to the elevator.

"Wesley Wyndham Price?" muttered Dean from between gritted teeth as they waited for the elevator, his face in a fixed smile. "The fuck? A little consultation would've been nice. A little bit of team playing."

"Don't be a whiny little bitch, Tiger," Faith said reprovingly. "It really isn't sexy."

"I'm just saying - no more surprises. Right?"

"No more surprises. Got it," agreed Faith, her expression worryingly solemn. The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Dean pressed the button with 14 on it. "So you ever had sex in an elevator?" asked Faith, sidling up close and readjusting the tie to the way she liked it.

"That is none of your business," said Dean as firmly as he could muster, trying not to redden. His pants were feeling uncomfortably restrictive, which was a situation that was becoming depressingly common around Faith.

She cocked her head, studying him delightedly. "Is that a yes? Holy crap, I think that's a yes, isn't it?" she exclaimed, sliding up closer. Dean looked her in the eyes, reminded himself that it would be really fucking stupid to get totally distracted in the middle of a demon law firm, and kissed her anyway.

He was more than halfway expecting to get decked for his trouble despite the repeated brazen come-ons, because when it came to mixed messages Faith could pretty much write the book. So he was more than a little bit gratified when she wrapped herself right around him and kissed him back with a level of enthusiasm that left his tie askew and lipstick on his mouth. His hand was halfway up the back of her skirt before his brain came screaming back into play.

He pushed her away gently and with extreme reluctance, all his hormones clamouring in protest at the insanity of _letting go of the hot girl_. With whom he'd still not had the chance to get up close and personal, and who was waging a one-woman mission to make him the first man to actually die of blue balls. "Pandimensional Demon Law Firm here," he pointed out with frustration. "Concentration would be A Good Thing right now."

At this point the doors opened and three more lawyers stepped inside. Dean scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand and tried unsuccessfully to look like a professional somethingorother, while sneaking glances at the newcomers. They didn't _look_ especially demonic to Dean, but what did he know about lawyers?

All five of them stood quietly while the elevator rose. At the twelfth floor the other three got off and Faith started to hum 'Love in an Elevator'.

"You are _such_ a brat," said Dean. Faith just winked at him, and then, grinning, used his tie to wipe the traces of lipstick away.

The elevator stopped, the doors slid open and Faith's whole posture changed. She finally looked like she was in the game, and Dean felt some of the tension in his belly relax. He'd still infinitely rather have Sam at his back, but he wasn't going to risk handing Sammy over to these people, so what he had instead was Faith.

"C'mon," she breathed, and they stepped out into the corridor.

The way to get away with shit like this, as Dean well knew, was to carry yourself like you were totally confident and knew exactly where you were going, and were definitely supposed to be there. It was surprising just how far this attitude would get a person.

Looked like Faith knew that too.

They strode past a room with Lindsey McDonald written on the door, and then another one with Lee Manners, and then there was the door labeled Buffy Summers. They kept on walking until they rounded a corner. Faith looked tense and slightly freaked out.

"This is _so_ fucked up," she muttered to herself, glancing around for inspiration. Abruptly her mouth curved into a grin. "Huh."

"What?"

"I'm a fucking genius," said Faith, and shoved her elbow into the fire alarm. There was a swift shatter of glass and then the air filled with the loud blare of the fire alarm, and lawyers started issuing forth out of doors like ants pouring out of a disturbed anthill.

"I _said_ no more surprises," muttered Dean, irritated that he hadn't thought of it himself.

"I'm being spontaneous," said Faith. "And look, it's working." Complaining loudly about the interruption and muttering about the stupidity of fire drills, all the suits poured towards the stairwell. Dean and Faith ducked out of the way and watched the exodus. Buffy's door opened, and the little blonde hurried out, punching the keys of her cellphone with a murderous expression. "Like taking candy from a baby," said Faith, smugly. "We don't have long, though - let's make it count."


	7. And Justice For All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Dean makes a disquieting discovery

The office was elegant, professional and roughly as personal as the motel room they had slept in the previous night. Fresh cut tulips leaned in artful disarray in a glass vase on a highly polished table. The prints on the walls were bright, abstract and meaningless as far as Dean could see. There was no clutter, no photographs, no nick-nacks, no executive toys. Faith looked around incredulously. "Holy crap," she said. "She's not just gone over to the Dark Side, she's gone to fucking _Stepford_. This is _so_ not Bee."

Dean leaned over the desk and clicked on the mouse, relieved to see that the screen hadn't had time to lock yet. "So we're looking for, what, the plans to the Death Star? The X Files? A contract signed in blood? What, exactly?"

"Appointment book with '8pm: meet crazy vamp chick from another dimension' scribbled in it?" suggested Faith, opening the filing cabinet in the corner and running her finger over the labels thoughtfully. "Or, shit, I don't know. Some kind of clue. But her home address would be good, 'cause if Dru's not already made contact with them, then maybe she's still out there playing at being crazy stalker lady."

"Or maybe she's half way to New York by now, and doesn't give a shit about Buffy Summers."

"Maybe," admitted Faith, reluctantly. "But she's got plenty of reason to be pissed at Bee. And it's all I've got."

Dean flicked through the appointment book on the screen, and it all looked tedious as hell. No meetings with Vlad the Impaler or Jack the Ripper or George Bush, no ritual sacrifice of goats. Boring, boring, boring. He flicked over to the address book instead. "Think I've got your girl's home address," he said after a moment, and Faith glanced across from the filing cabinet and nodded her approval.

"Cool. That's something, I guess." She stared down at the folders in front of her, looking frustrated. "Nothing here under D, nothing here under V for vampire, even. There's jack shit."

"Think we should go?" asked Dean, scribbling down Buffy's address on a post it and shoving it in his pocket.

Faith kicked the filing cabinet. "I thought I'd find - I thought - shit. I don't know what I thought." She bit her lip. "It doesn't feel like Bee at all. This place gives me the creeps." She started to push the cabinet drawer closed and then her brow crumpled in sudden thought. "Hey, d'you think they've got a file on Sammy?"

That got Dean's attention pretty damn fast. "Shit. Shit, maybe. Where -?" He stepped away from the desk and went to peer over her shoulder as Faith rummaged through the Ws. "Winchester!" he exclaimed, feeling suddenly sick, and his fingers closed over the file at the same moment that Faith grabbed it. She let go, and Dean yanked the manila folder out with suppressed violence, wishing fiercely that they'd left Sammy back at the motel instead of sitting in the Impala like a fucking gift. His fingers were shaking slightly as he opened the folder, even as he told himself that he was being a jackass, and that it was probably a totally different Winchester anyway.

It wasn't.

"Fuck," Dean exclaimed, staring at a blurry snapshot of his family. Mom was rosy and smiling and painfully young, and she was holding a tiny little bundle that had to be Sammy in her arms. Dad looked happy and carefree and hopeful in a way that Dean couldn't ever remember seeing. A small, chubby person that had to be a very young Dean was standing next to them, stretching up to clutch at Dad's hand. "Fucking fuck." He needed to sit down, or maybe throw up, or maybe both. He needed to break something.

"Dean, we got to go," said Faith from a million miles away. She squeezed his forearm, and he stared up at her blindly. "Seriously. We got Bee's address, I don't see a damn thing about Dru - we need to split. C'mon." He let her pull him out of the room. They needed to get to Sammy and get him the fuck away from this place, like, _yesterday_.

Running down thirteen flights of steps was a pretty good workout. Dean's heart was pounding like hell by the time they got to the ground floor. There were plenty of grumbling suits around them, some clutching files or briefcases, others empty handed. All of them looked pissed, and considerably better dressed than Dean. He elbowed his way past them, peripherally aware of the clatter of Faith's heels on the steps behind him but mostly focussed on _getting back to Sammy right now_.

This had been a stupid plan. They should never have come near this place. Except - except that the file Dean was clutching so tightly was a clue, was something to do with Mom's death, and that was a mystery that they still hadn't wholly solved. That was what everything had always been about, for Dad at least, and for Sammy. But if finding out the truth meant Sammy was going to be in danger again - screw that. He'd rather not know.

The sidewalk was a mass of pissy lawyers blaming each other and their bosses for interrupted meetings and severed phone calls. Dean caught a glimpse of Buffy Summers herself as he strode through the crowd, vibrating with tension, heading off toward the car as though his life depended on it. As though Sam's life depended on it. Which it might do. He didn't realise Faith was lagging behind until he was almost at the corner; when he turned around she was nowhere to be seen and he almost growled with frustration. This was _not_ the time to go awol, and he wasn't about to play hide and go seek. He'd had enough. He caught sight of her a moment later, as the crowd shifted around her. She was just standing there, watching the little blonde with the damnedest look on her face, and for an appalled moment he thought she was actually going to go up and speak to her, do something stupid, get them busted - but then she shook her head and glanced around for him. When she spotted how far away he was already she looked startled, and brushed something out of her eye with the back of her hand as she hurried down the street after him. As soon as he was sure that she was coming, Dean darted around the corner and broke into a run. His heart was in his mouth as he reached the Impala, horribly sure that it would be empty.

"Sammy?" It came out almost as a yell, and Sam jumped upright in his seat. "Thank Christ," said Dean, relief crashing over him at the startled expression on his little brother's face. "Man, you had me worried," he said.

Sam stared at him. "_I_ had _you_ worried? I've just been sitting here. You're the one playing at being one of the Hardy Boys. You okay? Where's Faith?"

"Here," said Faith, glancing over her shoulder and opening the door. "Does that make me Nancy Drew?"

"Nancy Drew never looked like that," said Dean, adrenaline still pumping through his veins and relief feeling like intoxication as he turned the key and felt the car wake up.

"C'mon, Tiger. Drive," she said, her voice wobbling oddly. He glanced at her in the rear view mirror and had no idea what to make of her expression. Her mascara was smudged.

"Yeah," he agreed, stuffing the manila folder behind him and wondering whether he should have stuck it in the shredder. "I hear you. Let's get the hell out of Dodge."


	8. Master of Puppets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our heroes develop somewhat unfortunate trust issues, and a new player arrives on the scene...

They got two rooms at the next motel. Dean hadn't been real big on conversation since he'd seen the photo of Mom and Dad and Sammy and him, and Sam had been casting him worried sidelong glances for the past half hour. Uncharacteristically, Faith had been pretty quiet too. When Dean had glanced at her in the rear view mirror she had looked lost and strangely fragile.

"Okay, somebody needs to talk to me _right now_, or I'm not going to be answerable for the consequences," said Sam at last, sounding thoroughly frustrated. "What is up with you two? Did you find anything? Did they already waste the vampire? What?"

"I'm five by five, Junior," said Faith, sounding more or less like herself a she stepped out onto the sidewalk. She smiled at him brightly. "Got Bee's address, so I guess that come sundown I'm going to be hanging around there looking out for Dru. It's not the very best plan in the history of plans, but I've already tried all the cemeteries in town and I don't know where else to start. I'm good. Think I might grab a shower though, maybe catch a few Zees. And change into something a little more my speed."

Dean popped the trunk and grabbed the bag containing Faith's new wardrobe, such as it was. He handed her the bag and the keys and she studied him for a moment with her head cocked and a quizzical expression on her face. "You okay?" she asked, more softly, and Dean didn't know what to say. He shrugged. She glanced down at the manila folder he was clutching too tightly, and then looked from Dean to Sam and back again. "Man, you really weren't kidding about family, were you?" She sounded surprised, and maybe a little amused. "Chill, Tiger. It'll be okay."

"Yeah, yeah," said Dean, not meeting her eyes. She had no fucking idea. "Whatever. Knock on the door when you're ready for dinner, okay?"

"Sure," she said, still looking thoughtful. Dean busied himself with hefting the rest of the bags, including weapons, out of the trunk, and when he looked up again she was gone. Sam, however, had his arms folded in front of his chest and a thoroughly ominous expression on his face.

"Dean, you better talk to me soon, or so help me," he said, his voice trailing off and letting Dean speculate about what kind of ghastly punishment would be in store for him.

"Here," said Dean, prodding one of the bags with his toe. "Make yourself useful. We'll talk when we're inside."

* * * 

"That's Mom," said Sam. He sounded shocked. "That's Mom, holding me."

"Yeah," said Dean, because what the hell else was there to say? He wanted to hit something so badly that his arms ached. "Yeah, that's Mom and Dad and you and me, in front of the old house."

"Jesus," breathed Sam. "Who the hell _are_ these people?"

"Pandimensional Demon Law Firm, Sammy. And they have a file on you. They've had a file on you since before Mom died." Dean pulled out some papers and skimmed through them, feeling sick with dread at what might be there but not able to help himself. "Subject confirmed...Date settled...Visit from Senior Partner successful...unexpected response...subject missing...subject found...Jesus, Sammy. Jesus. They've had fucking tabs on you all along. Elementary schools, middle schools, high schools...crap. Crap." He leafed through the papers, catching familiar names and places and feeling increasingly horrified. "Some gaps here, some missing years, but whenever we were settled in one place...damn." He stared up at his brother, and the baffled, half-frightened expression on Sammy's face just exactly matched what he was feeling himself. Except that Dean was also feeling quietly fucking furious.

"What does it mean, 'Visit from Senior Partner successful'?" asked Sam. "I don't get that."

Dean had a bad feeling about that himself. He glanced back at the paper and read it more carefully. "It's...shit. It's the date Mom died." _Smoke in his nose and flames beating yellow and terrible and Sammy a tiny bundle in his arms that Dad had trusted him to protect, warm and small and fragile against his chest, and where was Mom, where was Dad, what was happening?_ He looked up, meeting Sam's eyes and seeing appalled understanding there. "We had a personal visit from a Senior Partner in a Pandimensional Demonic Law Firm, Sammy." His throat closed up for a moment, and he had to close his eyes and concentrate on breathing carefully. He couldn't really smell smoke, but for a moment - but that was just his imagination.

"So it's my fault," said Sam, and Dean's eyes snapped open at once.

"No, Sam. It's the demon's fault. None of this is your fault. You were a _baby_, Sam. How could it possibly be your fault?"

"But it is," said Sam, his voice frighteningly calm. "You heard what he said when - you heard."

"Yeah, I heard what the _murdering demon possessing our father_ said, Sammy. And it was not. Your. Fucking. Fault. Okay?" But Sam wouldn't meet his eyes. Dean stood up, paced over to the door and punched it so hard that he left blood beading the wood. "Don't start with me," he said, still staring at the door. "Sam, please. Just don't do this."

"This is what Dad's been looking for all this time," said Sam quietly. "This is how to get to him. We didn't know where he was. We've been looking in the wrong places all this time." Dean felt his skin crawl at the sudden excitement in Sam's voice, and mentally cursed his own stupidity. Of course. Of course. He should have burned the fucking folder, he should have shoved it in the shredder, he should have left it right there in the filing cabinet, he should have just _kept his stupid mouth shut_, because Sam was their father's son through and through. Dean turned around slowly, and, yeah, Sam was already getting that obsessed, closed-off expression that made him look just like Dad and absolutely terrified Dean. "Don't you see? This is it, this is the break we've been looking for. This is going to give us an edge on him at last." He was smiling.

Sam was going to get himself killed, and it was all Dean's fault.

"Has it even occurred to you that this could be a trap?" asked Dean, feeling increasingly frantic and trying not to show it. Sam frowned. "I mean, before you go rushing off to _Wolfram and Hart_ like a fucking _idiot_, I think we ought to think this through, don't you? Because this stinks of set up to me." He had Sam's attention now. Dean thought fast, trying to pull the pieces of the puzzle together. "What, we pick up another hot little girl lost who just happens to be up to her neck in all this? Have you actually _forgotten_ about Meg?"

"Faith isn't possessed," said Sam, but he didn't sound quite positive, and Dean jumped on the trace of uncertainty.

"Oh, and you know that because, what, she says so?" he asked, his voice contemptuous. "And because you've shown such _excellent_ judgment so far in identifying people who are possessed by demons? Remember little Meg? Remember _Dad?_" That memory hurt like a knife in the ribs, and from the way that Sam flinched it was clear that it hurt him too, but Dean barrelled on anyhow, determined to stop Sam from jumping headlong into the kind of trouble that Dean couldn't get him out of. "Because me, I think this is all a little bit too pat. She just _happens_ to pick on me in the bar? Because, what, I look so very wealthy? She just _happens_ to know all about the monsters out there? She just _happens_ to be helpless, homeless, lost, all that crap? She just _happens_ to lead us right into the lion's den? Just _happens_ to know exactly the right office where they have a file on you? Man, somebody is fucking _playing_ us, Sammy. We got to be smart about this."

Sam looked down at the photograph uncertainly, and then looked back up at Dean.

"Yeah," he said slowly, frowning. "Shit. Okay, yeah. You're right."

* * * 

They were ready when she knocked on the door.

"Come on in," said Dean, carefully. He was sprawling on the bed with his hands behind his head, the picture of relaxation. Sam was sitting at the crappy plywood table with the laptop open, making a show of tapping away at the keys. The TV was on in the corner, showing some crappy black and white cowboy movie with the sound switched up a little too loud.

Faith pushed the door open and breezed in, looking a lot more like the girl from the bar than she had done an hour ago. She was back in jeans and boots, with a tight new T shirt; black this time, with a scoop neck. Her hair was damp and she'd fixed her makeup again. She was carrying a brand new denim jacket in her arms that Dean had paid for, like an idiot. "You boys ready to grab some dinner?" she asked, cheerily. "'Cause I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to eat a horse."

"So you're planning on going over to stake out this Buffy's house, then?" asked Dean, sitting up casually and watching Faith's movements.

She nodded. "And I've even got the stakes," she said, patting her pocket. "I had a small, ah, accident with the chair," she explained, dimpling. "Shouldn't think they'll notice, though. Probably."

"Right," said Dean, barely listening. Just another step, Sweetheart. Just one more step.

She took another step, and he was off the bed in an instant, the gun visible in his hand. Faith's eyes widened and she tried to step back.

And couldn't.

"Got you," whispered Dean, looking at her through narrowed eyes. "My God, you nearly had me. You nearly fucking had me. You another of his kids? Or just a minion?"

"Dean?" She sounded convincingly startled, but Dean was not falling for that shit again. "Hey, Tiger, what's this all about?" She was very good, no denying it, looking from Dean to Sam for some kind of explanation, just as if she wasn't actually a demon trying to set them up.

"No more games, Sweetheart," said Dean, pointing the gun at her chest. He was really _really_ fucking furious. He watched her reach out and test the air, looking for all the world like a cheap mime as she felt the bounds of her prison. "Yeah. Try explaining your way out of that, kiddo."

"What the hell?" She was starting to sound angry. Good.

Sam pointed up at the ceiling. "Surprised you fell for it," he said tightly. "Didn't you hear what happened to Meg?"

"What are you _talking_ about?" she demanded, really scowling now as she squinted up at the elaborate circles they'd drawn onto the ceiling. "What kind of shit are you pulling here? I don't understand, and I really do _not_ have the time for this crap. I've got to find Drusilla. I've got to get home."

"The Key of Solomon, bitch," said Dean. She _so_ nearly had them. He'd been feeling _sorry_ for her. He'd been thinking with his fucking _dick._ He'd nearly gotten Sammy _killed._ "Works like a treat. Demons can step inside, but they can't step out again. Not unless it's broken from the outside. And we won't be doing that. So, if you're not possessed by a demon, you want to try explaining how come the Key of Solomon has got you trapped?"

Faith stared at him, her mouth opening and then closing, her eyes huge. She licked her lips. "It only works on demons?" she asked, her voice low and shocked.

"Yep. Just demons. Want to talk your way out of that, _Faith_?"

"I'm not - I told you I wasn't a regular human," she said, scanning his face urgently. "I _told_ you."

"You kind of glossed over the being-a-demon thing, though, didn't you?" pointed out Sam.

She looked at him imploringly, and then over at Dean, and threw her hands up in the air. "This is not fucking _happening_ to me. I don't fucking _believe_ this shit. Jesus. Look, Slayers get their power from a demon, okay? Happy? The First Slayer was some chick who these fucking _men_, these _wizards_, went and made into a superhero. Something strong enough to fight the demons. Something - not quite human. And they magicked a demon's power into her, somehow - I don't know how, it was a long time ago, okay? But they did. And that's the source of our power, that's the mojo that got handed over every time a Slayer bit it. But we're people, you jackass. We're human. We've just got reflexes and strength and, and healing and all that stuff." She was really furious now, slamming her fist into thin air so hard that the knuckles grew bloody. "We're the freaking good guys, you stupid _stupid_ bastard."

"Yeah," said Dean, keeping the gun levelled on her. "Sure thing. And I believe in the Easter Bunny too."

"Oh, _fuck_ you. Stupid fucking _amateurs_." She stared up at the ceiling. "Wow. The road to redemption really does fucking _suck_, you know that?"

"Here's how it's going to work, Sweetheart. You're going to tell us what the plan is. You're going to tell us every single thing you think we might need to know, and some other things that we don't. Everything. And I know that you're possessing a real girl, and I feel kind of torn up about that, but at the end of the day if it's her or my family - well, I'm afraid it's not a hard decision. So what's going to happen here is I'm going to hurt you, and hurt you some more, and keep on hurting you until you tell me what I need to know." And there was a real girl in there, of course. He was talking about torturing a real girl, and there was a part of Dean's soul that was shrivelling at the thought of it, hating himself, never going to really recover from this - but he had no idea what the hell else he could do. They had to know what was going on, and this thing was their only source of information. He could do this, if it was what it took to keep Sammy safe. Dad had trusted him to keep Sammy safe, and he was damn well going to do it.

Faith stared at him, and the most chilling thing was that she looked like she understood perfectly. "Man. I am so screwed," she said softly. "And you're wrong about me, Tiger. But there's nothing I can say to convince you, is there? Not with Junior on the line. What a shitty, stupid, _pointless_ way to die."

Her eyes still looked human, which was kind of surprising. Dean guessed she thought she could still try to talk her way out of this.

Out of the blue he remembered the warm press of her body against his in the bar last night, in the elevator today, and he swallowed. He really wasn't looking forward to this. Fucking demons. But at least it wasn't Dad. At least it wasn't Sammy.

"Talk," he said, sighting on her leg for starters. There was a silencer on the gun, and the TV would muffle any noises they did make. Damn it.

She just stared at him, and the weird thing was that she didn't look angry any more, and she wasn't grinning like Meg had done, or like that thing in Dad. She just looked sad, and resigned. "I can't help you," she said, looking him right in the eye. "I really don't know the answer, Dean, so you better take your best shot. Man. Man, this is too fucking ironic for words. Sure as shit never saw this one coming. Guess I always thought I'd go out fighting something big and nasty - saving the world, you know?" Her mouth twisted into a pained little smile. "But I can't even get that right. Bee was right about me. Everything I touch just turns to shit."

And that was when Drusilla arrived.


	9. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which matters take a turn for the worse, and Drusilla proves very difficult to resist...

Dean never heard the door open, and later on that really shocked him, because he relied on his reflexes. But he was kind of concentrating on the girl trapped in front of him, and all he could hear was the sound of his own pulse, unnaturally loud. It was Faith's reaction that told him something was behind him, and for half a heartbeat he thought it was a feint, except he couldn't figure out what she hoped to gain by it. And then his brain told him that there had been a quiet click a second ago, and he spun around at the same moment that Sam did.

"Oh come _on_, Dean, shit, let me _out_," Faith said behind him, sounding frustrated as all hell. "You're going to get yourself killed, you stubborn bastard. You're going to get the both of you killed." He was careful not to step too far back, not to give Faith the chance to reach him, but his eyes were fixed quite firmly on the pale girl in the doorway.

She was almost painfully slender, her dark hair falling in a sleek curtain about her shoulders and her skin the colour of ivory or old lace. Her dress was red and sleeveless, made from something shiny, satin or silk or one of those touchable fabrics, embroidered with tiny squiggles of black thread as though someone had taken a fountain pen and inscribed the cloth with random swirls of ink, and it fell to her ankles in graceful folds. Her feet, peeking out from beneath it, were incongruously bare. She wasn't exactly pretty, but she was oddly beautiful, and there was something about her that took Dean's breath away. He definitely didn't think she was human.

"You've got her trapped like a little bird in a cage," she said, sounding entranced, peering past him. "Look at her stamping and shaking her little fist. Has she been a bad girl?" Drusilla - for it had to be Drusilla, and this was a bit of a surprise, since Dean had pretty much concluded that Drusilla didn't exist - stepped silently forward, her gaze fixed on Faith. She moved like a dancer, or perhaps more like a predator. Dean's thoughts whirled. If she was real, did this mean that Faith was for real? Or was this just another layer of the trap, another demon working with Faith? Damn. The pure, ugly certainty he'd felt a few seconds earlier was gone now, leaving him horribly unsure who to trust.

Sam, of course. That was who to trust. Nobody except Sam. He carefully moved to place himself between Drusilla and Sam.

"Sam, for the love of God, please let me out," murmured Faith behind him, her voice urgent. "I never lied to you. I'm not one of the bad guys. I know how to kill her. Shit, Sammy, you've got to let me out of here before she kills you both. Please. This is what I do. This is what I'm _for._ I can't just stand here and watch this!"

"Shut up," said Dean, without looking at her. He didn't take his eyes off Drusilla. So far she hadn't done anything freaky or threatening. Rock salt might do the trick, but the shotgun full of rocksalt was still in the bag next to Dean's bed on the other side of the room. Normal vamps could only die from decapitation. If Faith was telling the truth, this one could be taken out by a bunch of things. But if Faith was telling the truth about that, then maybe she was telling the truth about the rest of it. Damn. Double damn.

"Fuck you!" yelled Faith, slamming her hand into the air with an audible crack. "You stupid, _stupid_ fucking - you - oh, damn it all to hell."

"You shouldn't use bad words," said Drusilla disapprovingly. "It isn't nice. Naughty girls who use bad words get their mouths washed out with soap and water, and are put into invisible cages." She nodded. "Good. We don't want any nasty Slayers here, spoiling our tea party. Everyone is clean and new and on their best behaviour and bad girls just spoil everyone's fun."

"Lady, you are really are crazy like a fox," said Dean, and then wished he'd kept his mouth shut when she swung around and met his eyes and everything else suddenly melted away.

Drusilla lay one bone-pale finger against her lips. "Ssh," she said kindly. "If you haven't anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all. Didn't your Mummy teach you that? Oh!" Her head swivelled all of a sudden, and her gaze fixed upon Sam as though he were the most fascinating thing in the world. "Oh, but you never had a Mummy! It's all fire and screaming and blood that falls from the ceiling like rain, and the pretty lady shining like the heart of the sun!" She looked from Sam to Dean with a wondering expression on her face, and when her eyes met his Dean felt himself freezing quite still, his awareness shrinking down to the dark gaze fixed on his and the strangely musical voice that was speaking to him alone, only him in all the world. "You _have_ been having a very big adventure, haven't you? Following Daddy, doing what Daddy says because Daddy knows best." She nodded as if to herself. "Yes, Daddies do know best, and they sometimes have to punish us if we're naughty." She smiled. "That can be fun."

"Never mind them," said Faith, waving her hands in Drusilla's face. After a moment Drusilla turned, her head swinging gently around on the stem of her neck. Dean felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him when her attention shifted. "They don't matter. It's me you want, isn't it? Come and get me." She took a step back. "I'm right here, Dru," she added, sticking her chin up and pulling her hair back to expose her throat temptingly. "Slayer blood. Accept no substitute - nothing else like it, is there? Just think of all that power zinging around in my veins, just waiting for you. Just one quick bite away. Come on, Drusilla. Come on, baby. Come and get it. Try me." She took another step backwards, and Drusilla's eyes followed her with interest.

"You _are_ a naughty girl. You're trying to trick me, aren't you?" Drusilla looked up at the circles on the ceiling with an expression of fascination. "I don't like cages. And I don't think I like you either. You tell lies, and your head is full of the little blonde Slayer. I don't like her one little bit. She steals everything away, and she ruins all my parties."

"Damn," muttered Faith with feeling. "Damn. Damn. Damn."

Drusilla turned back to Dean, cocking her head, and licked her lips, and the clarity that had been returning vanished at once under her mesmerising attention. "You're special," she said, sounding surprised and delighted. "Both of you - special, precious creatures in a drab world. You shine," she said, almost crooning the world. "You gleam and glisten and sparkle, all that passion and anger and, oh, you're lovely. Lovely!" Dean didn't see her move, but she was suddenly standing right in front of him, smiling at him like he was a small boy who had just said something tremendously clever. Dean smiled back, feeling proud and slightly shy. He felt her pull the gun out of his hands and drop it, and he heard the clatter as it hit the floor, but he didn't look away from her beautiful, beautiful eyes. Drusilla laced her cool fingers with his, raised his right hand to her mouth and dragged her tongue gently over his scabbed knuckles, then she smiled at him again, kissed the back of his hand in an oddly courtly gesture and released his fingers. She was a very pretty lady. He was very pleased that she liked him. "I lost my family too," she told him in a confiding tone, glancing from Sam to Dean and back again. She looked enormously sad. "Daddy turned into the Angel beast, and Spike - my boy - the nasty little blonde Slayer stole him away, even though she didn't really want him. My sweet William. And she killed Grandmama, and then when they brought her back and I made her all nice and new and perfect, the Angel beast spoiled her and soiled her and stole her away, filled her up with a nasty fat human soul that _killed_ her, and now she's nothing but dust in the wind." Drusilla moaned, and Dean, who had no idea what she was talking about, felt like his heart was breaking with her. "But _you_ could be my family," she said, running cool fingertips over the curve of his jaw and sliding them down over his throat, feeling his pulse fluttering. She smiled. Dean smiled back. "We could stay together forever, safe and strong and happy. I'd look after you, and teach you songs, and we could dance in the moonlight and never ever die. You poor boys need a mother. And - oh! Oh! Oh, you've seen her!" Drusilla stared at Dean in astonishment, and a look of pure delight passed over her pale face. She clapped her hands gleefully. "She's disguised herself under another name, a princess of darkness trapped in the daylight again, poor darling, but I can save her too! Oh, we can be a proper family!"

"Dean! Sam! Snap out of it, you stupid bastards, or she's going to drink you where you stand! Wake _up_, damn you!" Dean could hear Faith's voice, angry and desperate, and he understood the words, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered but curing Drusilla's sorrow. And then they could be together forever, a real family, safe from everything. Sam would never leave him, would never be hurt again. He couldn't stop smiling.

Drusilla's scream cut through his reverie like a knife through butter. He blinked, and shook his head, his thoughts numb and sluggish. Drusilla was tugging a chunk of wood out of her side and howling, and for a moment Dean could think of nothing but trying to take her pain away.

"There's more where that came from, bitch," said Faith, hefting a sharpened chunk of wood and hurling it towards Drusilla lighting-fast. Impossibly, Drusilla caught it in mid air. Dean shook his head, fumbling for his gun, still dizzy and not entirely sure who he wanted to shoot. Where was his gun? He blinked and shook his head again. His gun was on the floor. He ducked down and grabbed it. Shit. What was his gun doing on the fucking _floor_?

"I told you not to use bad words," hissed Drusilla, and when she tossed her dark hair back Dean recoiled. Her eyes were yellow and her forehead had crumpled up into some strange pattern of ridges, and her _teeth_, dear merciful God, her teeth were nothing like human at all. "Rude girls are not welcome in nice people's houses."

"You aren't nice and you aren't people, bitch. Now come get me, if you think you're good enough" taunted Faith, beckoning Drusilla closer. "Come on, Drusilla. I dare you. I double dog dare you. You too chicken? You afraid I'll kick your lily white ass?" She hurled another stake with frightening precision, and somehow Drusilla dodged out of the way again.

Drusilla hissed.

Dean backed away from both of them, keeping his gun trained on Drusilla and trying to tear the last cobwebs from his mind as quickly as possible. He glanced behind him, and there was Sam looking equally dazed. He pulled Sam back with him, trying furiously to think. They both needed to get into the game, and they needed to get into the game _now_, damn it. Dean slapped his own face hard, trying to pull himself together. What the fuck had she just _done_ to him?

While he watched, Faith tossed another stake at Drusilla, and Drusilla darted out of the way again. They were both moving with astonishing speed. Blood was pouring from the wound in Drusilla's side where the first stake had landed, and the bright fabric was darkening to black. "Come on, you crazy old bag. Come and get me," said Faith. "Look, I'll even close my eyes." She put her hands behind her back. "See? You're just too damned chicken shit, aren't you? I could take you with my hands behind my back and my _eyes_ closed, Drusilla. You're a pushover."

Faith, Dean recognised, was trying to draw Drusilla into the Key of Solomon with her. Which meant, surely, that Faith wasn't lying about what she was. Didn't it? Crap. It could still be a twisty double cross. Crap. He just didn't know.

However, it seemed a pretty safe bet that Drusilla was _not_ one of the good guys, so he shot her. And when she didn't fall down, he shot her again. And again. And he kept on firing, and walking towards her until all the bullets were gone, at which point Sam, who had been rummaging madly through the bag full of their weapons, tossed him a flask of holy water, which he caught left handed, unscrewed with his teeth and splashed into her face.

_That_ worked. While Drusilla was screaming and writhing he tossed the remnants of the water at Faith. Faith just blinked at him wetly, one eyebrow raised. Huh. 'Kay. Dean turned his attention back to Drusilla, who was looking very much less attractive than she had a few minutes earlier. She had holes in her chest and shoulders and side and her face was bubbling like it had been splashed with acid. She hissed at him again, and then Sam shot her with rocksalt and she screamed like a banshee at the end of the world as all the lumps of rock peppered her face and clothes, making yet more holes, and she spun on her heel and hurled herself out of the door and into the night.

Faith tried to run after her, smashed straight into one of the walls of air and fell down, like some kind of Buster Keaton sketch gone wrong. "God _damn_ it, Dean, she's my only way home," yelled Faith, sounding furious and hopeless and just about at the end of her tether. She wiped the water out of her face with the back of her hand and sat back on her haunches, staring at the open door miserably. "She's my only way home," she whispered again, her shoulders slumping.

Dean looked at Sam questioningly. The holy water hadn't done a damned thing to Faith - but then, this wasn't without precedent in their dealings with demons, unfortunately. He crossed the room, carefully avoiding the invisible walls of the trap, and leaned into his brother. "What do you think, Sammy?" he asked.

"I think she's for real," said Sam softly. He grimaced. "But, as you pointed out, I don't have a great track record with this."

"Drusilla could have taken us both out there," said Dean. He really didn't like admitting this, but it was painfully clear to both of them. They had been totally screwed. "The only thing that stopped her was Faith. But on the other hand, this whole thing with Drusilla could have just been to try to make Faith look good again, make us trust her."

"Yeah," agreed Sam, running a hand through his hair and looking miserable. "Right there with you."

"Crap."

"Yeah."

"Try the bible?" ventured Dean, looking at the dejected little figure sitting on the shabby carpet and wanting her not to be evil.

"We didn't use that on - on him. Maybe he's bible-proof as well as holy water-proof."

"Yeah, but - I don't think she's him." If she was him, then Dean had made out with the demon that killed his mother. And Dean really wasn't ready to deal with that. "Do you?"

"No. Probably not. But I don't know."

"No. Crap."

"Who was she talking about?" asked Faith, standing up slowly. She turned around and looked at them, her expression thoughtful. "She said that you'd seen somebody. She talked about a princess of darkness trapped in the daylight. Somebody you know. Somebody she knows too. Somebody she wants to 'rescue', which I think we can take to mean vamp. Who do you know, Tiger? Who got her so wound up? It wasn't Bee - I don't think it was Bee. It was somebody she _liked_, and she can't stand Bee. We've missed something."

Dean looked back at her, and looked at Sam, and felt almost perfectly certain that she was a real girl. Almost. He stepped over to the bedside drawer and fumbled in it, producing a Gideon's bible that he tossed towards her. "Catch," he said. She caught it, glanced at the cover and then looked back at him questioningly.

"What is this, Bible Study?"

"Well, her fingers aren't smoking," whispered Sam. "Read something," he said to her, more loudly.

"What the...fine. Fine." She opened it at random and started reading. "'Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for your love is more delightful than wine.' The fuck?" She glanced up at them, baffled, and then glanced back down at the book with her eyebrows half way to her hairline.

"Song of Solomon," said Sam, shaking his head and smiling in spite of everything. "God, of all the pages to turn to, you would have to find that."

"'While the king was at his table, my perfume spread its fragrance. My lover is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts. My lover is to me a cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of En Jedi.' This is _The Bible_? Hot damn! I had no idea it had steamy bits! Or Jedis. I didn't know about the Jedis either." She frowned.

"It doesn't have Jedis. It's an old - never mind. What do you think?" Sam asked Dean, his expression quizzical.

Dean drew a deep breath and prayed that he wasn't fucking everything up with another bad judgment call. Please. "Okay," he said, nodding. "I think she's for real. Probably."

"_Thank_ you!" exclaimed Faith, bouncing on the balls of her feet and closing the book. "Sanity! About freaking _time_!"

Sam grabbed the crappy chair and tugged it over to the edge of the Key of Solomon, then stood on it and rubbed at the chalk lines on the ceiling. Faith's fingers were pressed flat against the air, and as the chalk dust rained down onto her hair the wall evidently snapped away and her hand flew through the air, quickly followed by the rest of her. She stood quite still for a moment, her chest heaving and her eyes closed, taking in her freedom, and then she walked up to Dean and slapped him. "That's for thinking I was a fucking _demon_," she said, and then she grabbed his chin and yanked him into a bruising kiss. "And that," she added breathlessly a moment later, "is for trusting that I'm not."

"What am I, chopped liver?" protested Sam with an expression of mock indignation as he pushed the chair back to where he got it. His expression changed pretty fast as Faith spun around and pounced on him, and Dean noticed that Sam didn't actually get a slap, just a thank you kiss. A very enthusiastic thank you kiss.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. It had actually been simpler when he thought she was a demon.

"Okay," said Faith, letting go of Sam and turning back to Dean. "So, I'm thinking pizza? And then we figure out where the hell that crazy bitch has gone now. Sound like a plan?"

Sam blinked at Dean from over her shoulder, looking slightly dazed.

"Pizza and beer," said Dean, feeling tired, and Faith beamed at him.

"That's my boy," she said.


	10. Carpe Diem, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is pizza, and truth games, and beer, oh my...

Dean's plastic paid for a case of beer and three large stuffed crust pizzas with everything on them. They drove back to the motel with the windows open and _Ride the Lightning_ cranked up to 11 and didn't talk about vampires or demons or kisses or anything at all.

Dean perched on the edge of his own bed, toed his shoes off and stretched his feet over to rest on Sam's bedcover, balancing the pizza boxes on his knees. Sam dropped the case of beers in the valley between the two beds and collapsed in a boneless sprawl on top of his own bed, his T shirt riding up a little. He ignored the proximity of Dean's feet with the ease of practice until Dean gave Sam's shoulder an experimental prod with his toe, and Sam growled. Dean grinned, and tossed a pizza box onto Sam's belly. It landed with a slapping sound, and Sam cracked open one eye to glare at his brother.

"Beer!" said Faith expectantly, sitting down cross legged next to Dean and snagging one of the pizza boxes from the pile. "Beer _now!_"

"Oh my God. It's like babysitting a five year old with an alcohol problem," said Sam without opening his eyes. Faith stuck her tongue out at him, and Dean busted open the cardboard, hooked a bottle out and slammed the edge of the lid against the bedside table, then passed her a bottle. Foam spilled over his hand and onto her fingers and she grinned at Dean as she licked her fingers clean. Dean swallowed and looked away quickly.

"So I take it you won't be joining the grownups, then, Sammy?" he said, snagging two more beers and waggling one temptingly at his brother. "Just sticking to Kool Aid and pizza like a good boy?"

Sam opened his eyes again, his eyebrows quirking upwards. "Shut up and give me a beer already," he said, reaching for the bottle. Dean jerked it out of reach.

"Ah ah ah! What's the magic word?"

"Jackass? Dickhead? Jerk?"

"Sammy, you're going to hurt my tender ickle feelings, here," said Dean sadly, pulling both beers back towards his chest and cradling them. Sam moved a lot faster than Faith was expecting, letting the pizza box hit the floor as he turned and grabbed Dean's ankle in one hand and ran a finger over the sole of his foot with the other. Dean dropped both bottles and promptly convulsed and lashed out with his free foot. Faith grabbed his pizza before it could fall to the floor too. She watched Dean writhing and flailing and falling off the bed with interest while Sam dodged Dean's right foot and continued to tickle the left one mercilessly.

"Uncle! Fucking _uncle_, you rotten little - getoffgetoffgetoff!" yelled Dean, wriggling and smashing into the case of beers hard enough to set all the bottles clattering. Sam let go and grinned down at Dean, who was sprawling in the valley between the beds looking like he'd just gone ten rounds with a demon. "Brat," said Dean without malice, rubbing the back of his head and grinning back.

"Jackass," replied Sam affectionately, stretching down and plucking a bottle from the case. "You made me drop my pizza, you jerk." He swooped down to pick up the box and settled down against the headboard with his knees folded up in front of him and the pizza box open on the bed.

"Good," muttered Dean, getting back to his feet and salvaging his own pizza and beer. He wriggled back over the bed until he could rest his back against the wall, hooked one of the pillows and shoved it behind his head, letting his feet dangle off the end of the bed and trusting that Sammy would respect the ceasefire. Faith followed his example and leaned across him to grab the other pillow, then sat cross legged next to him, her knee making a warm spot where it pressed into his thigh.

"You going to eat that pepperoni?" asked Faith, ogling his pizza. Dean glanced at her with suspicion.

"That was the plan," he replied.

"Oh. You like pepperoni?"

"Yep." There was a little pause, while Dean swallowed his beer and watched Faith through his eyelashes. "Are you asking for my pepperoni?"

"No," she said, shrugging and picking up a slice of her own pizza. "I'm good."

"'Cause you can have it, if you want," said Dean, trying not to smile. "I don't mind."

"No, I'm good here, thanks."

"Suit yourself," said Dean, shovelling a mighty slice of pizza into his face. "Mmmmm. Pfeffewoni," he said, his mouth full. Faith elbowed him in the ribs and he looked at her innocently. "Wha'?"

"So you boys know the game 'Never have I ever'?" asked Faith, biting a neat crescent out of her slice of pizza and then waving the remaining slice around to try to sever the long string of mozzarella that stretched from the pizza to her mouth. Dean watched her from the corner of his eye, and suppressed the impulse to snap the mozzarella himself.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," said Sam, looking from Faith to Dean and back again.

Dean took another mouthful of beer and glanced across at Sam. There was a familiar reckless gleam in his eyes. "You chicken, Sammy?" he asked. "Puck, puck, puck, PUCK-UK!" he added, flapping his elbows like makeshift wings and sniggering to himself.

Sam flicked a bottle cap at him. "Screw you," he said irritably. "I'm not chicken, I'm just saying - "

"I'm in," interrupted Dean. "Don't know about _Samantha_ over there, of course." He took another mouthful of pizza, his eyes locked on Faith's, and she gave a throaty gurgle of laughter and palmed one of the pepperoni slices from his pizza. Dean's hand was around her wrist at once, his eyes never breaking contact with hers, and that made her laugh out loud.

"Fine, fine, I'm in," said Sam. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Dean let go of Faith's hand and she slipped the stolen pepperoni slice into her mouth then wiped her greasy fingers on her jeans and hefted her beer bottle, glancing from Dean to Sam. "Never have I ever...mistakenly believed that someone was possessed by an evil demon," she said, pointedly. Sam snorted and drank at the same time as Dean did. Faith's brow crumpled in thought for a moment and then she laughed at herself and took a swig too. "Your go, Tiger," she said, dimpling at him.

"Never have I ever laid...an unquiet spirit to rest," said Dean, swallowing a mouthful of beer. Sam joined him, looking slightly relieved. Faith frowned.

"Do vamps count? 'Cause I mostly don't deal with ghosts."

"Undead's undead," said Dean with a shrug, and Faith took a slug of beer. Dean stole one of her pepperoni slices while she was drinking.

"Never have I ever held down an honest job," said Sam. Faith looked thoughtful, then shrugged and drank. Dean held his beer loosely in his hand, an expression of beatific innocence on his face. "Dean!" exclaimed Sam, looking outraged.

"Hey, I used to cut Old Man Peterson's lawn every Saturday," said Dean defensively, picking up another slice of pizza.

"You were fifteen," protested Sam. "And we only stayed there three months!"

"Still counts. An honest job. And anyway, there have been others. I've done stuff you don't know about, Sammy. You got no idea what we've been doing while you were off getting yourself all educated."

"Fine," said Sam, shrugging and biting into his pizza. "Whatever."

"Never have I ever made out with a woman," said Faith, tipping her head back and gulping down a mouthful of beer. Dean met Sam's eyes, grinning, and raised his bottle in salute. They both drank.

"Never have I ever slept with a woman," said Dean, watching Faith as he raised his beer. She grinned back at him, and then took another swig. Sam nearly choked on his own beer.

"Never have I ever, uh, never have I ever fallen in love," said Sam softly. All three of them drank, although none of them looked happy.

"Never have I ever lived on a Hell mouth," said Faith, taking another swig of beer. The brothers looked at one another bemusedly and Faith grinned. "My universe is just _full_ of surprises," she said.

"Never have I ever stolen anything," said Dean, and all three of them drank again, quickly.

"Never have I ever trusted the wrong person," said Sam, and all three of them drank again.

"Shit, man, this is too easy," said Faith. "Never have I ever made out with a guy," she said, after a moment, knocking her beer back and watching the boys through lowered lashes. Sam hesitated, reddening, and then took a quick slurp of beer. Dean spat out a mouthful of pizza.

"_Sam!_" he all but yelled. "Sammy? The fucking fuck?"

"It was a college thing," said Sam, growing more crimson by the moment. Faith was shaking with laughter at Dean's side. "I was drunk and we were playing spin the bottle. I made out with three girls too. It was just a game. Didn't _mean_ anything."

"Holy crap, _Samantha_," said Dean, staring, his shock giving way to amusement while Sam glared and glared.

"I knew this was a bad idea," said Sam grimly.

"This was a _fantastic_ idea," said Faith, beaming.

"Never have I ever had sex with a guy," said Dean, eyeing Sam suspiciously while Faith took another slug of beer. Sam lifted his bottle slowly to his mouth and Dean's jaw dropped, but then Sam lowered the bottle again and grinned. Dean shook his head. "Just checking. Man. You think you _know_ someone."

"Never have I ever been to Disneyland," said Sam. None of them drank.

"Now that," declared Dean, "is truly pitiful. We need to fix that, Sammy. Next birthday I'm taking you to Disneyland. My treat."

"You mean the Credit Card Company's treat?"

"Same thing," said Dean, looking a tiny bit put out. He took an absent minded mouthful of beer and found his bottle empty, so he dropped the bottle onto the floor and groped around for another one, cracking it open against the bedside table.

"Never have I ever had a threesome," said Faith, taking a huge gulp of beer. Dean grinned and knocked back his own bottle, and Sam shook his head at the pair of them. "Beer me, Sammy," said Faith, surveying her empty bottle with a sorrowful expression. Sam snagged another bottle and tossed it across to her.

"Never have I ever fucked anything up," said Dean. All three of them drank, but Dean eyed Sam over the edge of his bottle almost indignantly. "You never fuck up," he said when he'd gulped down his own beer. "You're like the golden boy. Straight A student, all that crap."

"I fuck up," said Sam tersely. "I fucked up with Jessica. Should have told her the truth. Should have kept her safe."

"Sammy, that was _not_ your fault."

"Whatever," said Sam, folding a slice of pizza in half and sinking his teeth into it. "Whose turn is it?" he added in a muffled voice.

"Yours."

"Never have I ever worn a dress in public," said Sam, grinning evilly and taking another bite of pizza. Faith looked from him to Dean quizzically as she swallowed her beer, and then inhaled and choked when Dean, scowling, took a slug from his own bottle. She spluttered and coughed and wheezed, her eyes streaming, and Dean pounded her on the back until she could breathe again.

"Spill!" demanded Faith with her first breath, and Dean shot Sam a murderous look.

"It was - it - I was eleven," muttered Dean, still glaring at his brother. "I was _eleven_. Dad was trying to lure this thing that had been killing kids. Girls. Real nasty. He had me sitting in a stupid dress with a stupid _wig_ on and playing with _dolls_ for half an hour. Okay? But it worked," he added after a moment. "He got the bastard. It was a good plan. Just kind of sucked for me."

"You guys really did have an interesting childhood, didn't you?" said Faith.

"Oh, man. You don't know the half of it," said Sam.

"But Dad took care of us," said Dean. "It wasn't like, you know, _The Waltons_, or whatever, but Dad was always there for us."

"Except when he wasn't. When he was off chasing monsters and we were stuck with Pastor Jim, or left in some scuzzy motel in the middle of nowhere with no idea of whether he was ever going to come back for us," said Sam.

"He did what he had to do, Sammy," said Dean fiercely. "He always kept us safe, and he always came back."

There was a tense little pause, and Faith bit her lip and looked from Dean to Sam unhappily.  
"Never have I ever thought about having filthy, hot monkey sex with anybody in this room," she said loudly, and knocked back half of her beer. Dean made a choked sound like a laugh and took a slug from his own bottle, then looked incredulously at Sam. Sam blushed and took a quick slug of beer without meeting anyone's eyes, and Faith laughed out loud.

"Never have I ever led a guy on just to see him squirm," said Dean, watching Faith through narrowed eyes and keeping his own beer balanced on his knee. Sam bit into the cheese-stuffed crust of his pizza, watching Faith expectantly. She blew Dean a kiss and took another swig of beer, and Dean groaned.

"Man, you are _killing_ me here," he said, shaking his head.

"Oh, you love it, Tiger," she replied, patting his thigh cheerfully and swiping another slice of pepperoni.

"Never have I ever killed a monster," said Sam, and they all drank.

"Never have I ever killed a man," said Faith softly. She and Dean both drank, and then eyed each other thoughtfully. "Huh," she said. There was another awkward pause, different this time.

"Never have I ever liked a boy band," said Dean at last, keeping his bottle firmly in place. Sam, glaring, took another gulp of beer.

"Define liked," said Faith.

"I mean bought their albums, watched them on TV, thought their music was totally cool," said Dean, grinning at Sam. Sam hurled a pillow at him, and he caught it, laughing.

"Oh. Then, no," said Faith.

"I was _nine_, Dean," said Sam, his teeth gritted.

"You wanted to join their fanclub," said Dean, reminiscently.

"Oh, you - Fine. Never have I ever got my ass whupped by a _nun_" said Sam.

Dean shrugged and took another swig of beer. "Catholic school," he said, by way of explanation, settling the empty bottle on the bedside table. "Although I'm sure some people would pay good money for that."

"Most likely," agreed Faith, shoving her empty pizza box off the bed and stealing Dean's last slice of pizza. Somehow she had managed to rearrange herself so that her hip was resting warmly against his hip and her thigh was pressed up against his thigh. Dean was acutely conscious of the smell of her hair and the way her bare arm brushed against his when she moved. It was - distracting.

"Never have I ever gotten trapped in another dimension," said Sam, and Faith shrugged and drank. "Hold that thought, people," said Sam, getting to his feet. "Apparently I have no bladder control."

"Fair enough," said Faith, finishing off the last slice of Dean's pizza. She watched the bathroom door close and then looked back at Dean. There was pizza sauce on the corner of her mouth.

"You've got, just hang on - just here," he said, leaning closer and reaching a finger to wipe the smear of red from the corner of her mouth. He wasn't quite expecting her to catch his fingertip in her mouth and suck it in, all sudden wet heat and darting tongue. "Christ," he managed, breathlessly, and then in one swift movement she was straddling his lap, grinding her hips in maddening little circles and kissing him like her life depended on it. "Oh, yeah," he gasped, with feeling, one hand on the curve of her hip and another sliding underneath the tight black T shirt, skating over her belly and up higher to cup her breast, feeling her nipple poke into the palm of his hand. She bit his lip hard, one hand on his shoulder and the other at the nape of his neck, angling his face towards her. "Oh, my God, yeah, yes, just like - mmph" exclaimed Dean, forgetting for a glorious moment that Sam was about to walk back into the room.


	11. Hit the Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Faith and Dean indulge in the pleasures of the flesh

Maybe Faith actually was half as impressive a superhero as she seemed to think she was, because she certainly heard the bathroom door start to open before Dean did. She was off him and standing up between the beds and rolling her shoulders and reaching up into a delicious full-body stretch while Dean was still wondering what the hell had happened to his lapfull of warm girl.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, wiping wet hands absentmindedly on his pants, and looked from Faith to Dean with an entirely too knowing expression on his face. Faith smiled back at him. Dean glared.

"Well, boys, I think I'm going to call it a night," said Faith, picking up her new jacket. "It's been a busy day, you know? Seeing Stepford Bee working at EvilLawyers R Us, getting imprisoned in a Demon Trap, losing my only link with home - I'm about ready for bed."

"You sure you'll be okay getting back?" asked Dean. He ignored the smirk that this provoked from his brother.

"Why, Tiger, are you offering to walk me home?" asked Faith, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Yeah," said Dean nonchalantly, still ignoring Sam's grin.

"That's cute," said Faith, sounding for all the world like she was talking to a five year old. "I mean, anything out there bad enough to kick my ass would pretty much have you for breakfast, you know. And it's not exactly a long walk. But that's real cute."

"I can handle anything you can, honey" said Dean, meeting her eyes and smiling, because, really, she had no fucking _idea_ what kind of crap he had dealt with before now. And standing next to Sam she looked way too tiny to take seriously.

"Yeah," she said, snorting. "Sure you can." She paused on the threshold and glanced back at him, her eyebrows arching. "Well? You coming, or what?"

Oh. Right. Hell yeah. He pulled a face at Sam, who was just fucking jealous anyway, and hurried after her.

It was dark outside, all shadows and neon, and the vampire was nowhere to be seen. Which didn't mean she wasn't out there, of course, but he pretty much reckoned they'd seen the last of her for a while. She'd looked pretty messed up when she fled out into the night.

"This is me," said Faith, pointing at the glossy red door. She batted her eyelashes at him in a parody of wide-eyed gratitude that made her look like a porn star. "Thanks _so much_ for making sure I got home safe. I was scared walking all that way on my own." They had walked maybe ten feet.

"Are you always this much of a pain in the ass?" asked Dean, wanting very much to touch her again but not quite sure what to make of her mood.

"Mostly," she said, after a moment's consideration. She pulled the key out of her jeans pocket and unlocked the door. "Then sometimes I like to crank it up."

"Huh," he said, intelligently. They were standing very close, and she was looking right back into his eyes, and just a few minutes ago they had been making out like teenagers. As far as Dean was concerned, they really needed to be getting back to that pretty much now. Preferably with fewer clothes. "So are you going to ask me in for coffee?" he asked.

"No," said Faith, with unexpected firmness. Crap. She smiled broadly as she pushed the door open. "I don't have any coffee," she said with a shrug, and slipped inside. The door started to close.

"Right. Fine. Night, then," he said, feeling grumpy as hell.

"Shut the fuck up and get your ass in here right now, Dean Winchester, before I go back next door and blow little Sammy's mind instead."

Jesus H Christ, thought Dean, pushing the door open wider. The girl really should come with an instruction manual. Maybe a phrase book.

It was dark inside her room, and he couldn't see her. In fact, he couldn't see a damn thing. Dean tensed up automatically, despite the beers, acutely conscious of the fact that he was outlined in the doorway for anything that was waiting within. Which was hopefully just a hot girl, but Dean had found that it really didn't pay to make that kind of assumption. His hand went straight for the wall, feeling for the light switch, but before he found it Faith grabbed his shirtfront hard enough that he heard it rip and yanked him into the centre of the room. The door closed behind him. It was still dark, and his eyes were adjusting but with the curtains closed he still couldn't make much out in there and he was getting a _bad_ feeling about this. Maybe, just maybe, he had been a total fucking idiot after all. Maybe he never should have let her out of the Key of Solomon.

Sammy was alone next door. Dean felt a sudden spike of fear at the thought.

"Faith? This is not fucking _funny_," he said, reaching out blindly with his fingers splayed, braced for impact from any direction and missing his gun like it was one of his limbs.

"It _is_ kind of funny, Tiger," she said, and he swung towards the sound feeling angry and resentful and half-afraid, and remembering Meg all too vividly. She moved damn fast. Inhuman. "C'mon, Dean - you said you could handle anything I could handle. You think you can take me? So show me, tough guy. Give it your best shot."

He was already moving as she spoke, and this time he found her, his hand closing over her forearm and pulling her up to him maybe a little more forcefully than he would normally have grabbed at a girl - but there was a fluttering uncertainty in his belly about whether she _was_ a girl, and Dean wasn't real happy about that kind of uncertainty. "Quit playing games," he said, scrabbling in the shadows and finding her other arm and bracing himself for whatever stunt she was going to pull next.

Faith darted in and he felt her lips brush the stubble on his jaw, felt the curve of her cheek shift as she smiled. "Oh, Dean, Dean. You have no idea what you're dealing with, stud." And then she was moving, and although he'd thought himself prepared for the speed he had definitely not been expecting the sheer strength. When she moved it was like being hit by a quarterback who'd had a running start. All the breath went out of him in a startled whuff as she slammed him across the room and up against the wall and pinned his wrists flat beside his head, and _he could not move_, damn it. Which was ridiculous, because he'd been fighting as long as he'd been walking, and he had inches and pounds on her enough to wrestle her off easily. Except - he couldn't fucking _move_. "This is what it means, Tiger," she breathed, as he squirmed ineffectually against her and tried not to be distracted by the sensation of her body sliding against his while he attempted to break her grip. "Did you think I was shitting you? I've killed lots of things bigger and uglier than you with my bare hands. This is what I do. I'm a goddamned bonafide _superhero_," she said, her voice wild and oddly bitter. "Ain't it grand?"

If she was a demon, Dean reflected, he was pretty comprehensively screwed right now. And not in a good way. He let his body relax and waited for her to let up. Faith laughed out loud, and leaned up to kiss him without ever releasing her hold on his wrists. It was, he had to admit, one hell of a kiss, although the lingering uncertainty about whether she was playing him, whether he'd misjudged her badly and as a result both he and Sammy were on the brink of paying for it, kind of prevented him from giving the kiss his whole attention. On the other hand it was pretty damn difficult to concentrate on trying to kick her ass when she was doing the most fabulously obscene things to his mouth, and his pants were back to feeling tighter than ever.

"So do you still think you can handle anything I can?" His eyes had adjusted enough to the dim light that he could just about make out the shape of her face. She still looked like Faith, and she certainly didn't have a mouthful of sharks' teeth, like Drusilla. She felt like a girl, pressed up against him. She sounded and tasted and smelled like a girl, but the sheer strength was still disconcerting as hell. And not just disconcerting, if he was honest. And it was difficult not to be honest about that to somebody who was plastered up close enough to feel just how excited you were at that moment.

"Maybe," he said, and she shook with laughter.

"Damn, Tiger. You're sweet when you're trying to be macho, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Fuck you."

"That's kind of the point," she said, still laughing, and at last she did let go of his wrists, dropping one hand to cup his crotch and sliding the other one slowly down over his shirt, and darting in to kiss him again. Dean had one hand on her ass and another buried in her hair before he'd really given any conscious thought to the matter, and then it got kind of difficult to really do much conscious thinking because her fingers were dipping inside his jeans, and his whole body was lighting up and singing hallelujah.

Dean really _really_ hoped she wasn't secretly a demon. And then she slid down onto her knees, unzipping his pants and yanking them down around his thighs, and suddenly he had one hand buried in the soft mass of her hair and the other splayed out against the cool paint of the wall, and he could hear his breathing coming fast and urgent in the quiet darkness while her fingers skated up inside his shirt, her short nails grazing patterns onto his skin, her tongue darting around his belly button and sliding down over the curve of his hip bone, and at that point Dean pretty much forgot to hope about anything other than her mouth.


	12. Seek and Destroy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sam has a cunning plan

Dean woke up a little after dawn and found himself spooned around Faith with his arm slung around her waist and her hair tickling his nose. He was startled; not by the fact that he'd gotten laid - which had been on the cards - but by the fact that he'd spent the whole night there.

Dean Winchester would be the first to agree that he hardly led the life of a monk. But he didn't often spend the night, not when he was travelling with Dad or Sam. For that matter it was pretty damn rare that he ended up in a motel room; in Dean's world girls usually had their own place to go back to: someplace clean and neat, or maybe cluttered and chaotic; someplace homey, with shelves of books or nicknacks, with lovingly framed photographs of parents and friends, some place like the apartments or the picket fenced houses people lived in on TV. Some place with a yard or a view, an attic or a loft, maybe a cat or a dog or a pair of bright-scaled fish bobbing in a bowl. Some place normal. Some place real.

Some place Dean did not belong for more than a few hours or, at most, a few nights spent learning someone else's skin in the breathing space between disasters. Finding all the sweet spots and losing himself in the process. Working out where the coffee mugs were kept and which drawer might contain teaspoons, and spinning some tale about how he had to go on to some meeting in Chicago, some conference in Denver, some urgent FBI business, some bullshit story or other. Half the time he was test driving a new name as well as a new story, and it didn't occur to him to feel bad about lying to these sweet-faced girls with their ordinary lives and their 9-to-5 jobs. They didn't want to know that the world was bristling with ghosts and demons and creatures in between, and when he was with them, neither did he.

He'd tried honesty. He'd tried to bridge the gap between his reality and theirs when he told Cassie the truth - and he'd gotten his ass dumped for the trouble. Didn't see that one coming. Cassie was funny and smart and kind and gutsy and so damn beautiful that he couldn't look at anyone else when she was in the room, and she'd made him think that maybe it was possible for life to be - different. That maybe he wanted life to be different. Oh, the sex had been fantastic, no question - but it wasn't only that. She'd made him start wanting and hoping for stuff he'd pretty much always thought happened to other people.

Dean wouldn't be making that mistake again in a hurry.

And yet here he was, wrapped around a girl who knew his name, knew what he did, knew what was out there. Wrapped round her just as close as he'd been wrapped around Sammy the night before, just as if _she_ needed looking after. Which was a fucking joke, and she'd taken pains to show him how very capable she was of taking care of herself...and yet...

"Morning," he murmured when he felt her stir in his arms. She stilled, and there was an uncertain pause.

"Crap," said Faith with feeling. Which really wasn't the warmest greeting Dean had ever received, and did a fair bit to squash any vague warm and fuzzy feelings he might have been thinking about harbouring. "I'm in the wrong fucking _universe._ Still." There was an edge of frustration in her voice, and beneath it something that sounded quite a lot like fear.

Oh.

"Fraid so, Sweetheart," he said, stroking her hip idly and wondering what to say.

She wriggled back against him. "Still, nice to find this place has a few compensations," she added, and he could hear the smile in her voice. It kindled an unexpected spark of delight in him, and he found that he couldn't stop grinning.

"What am I, the welcome wagon?"

"Pretty much." She turned around to face him, skin sliding warm and smooth against his palm until he found himself clasping her other hip and looking into her eyes. "That a problem, Tiger?"

"It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it."

"My hero," she snorted, and kissed him with intent.

* * * 

Sam was up and dressed and tapping away at the keyboard fresh as a daisy when Dean ventured back into their room. He glanced up and met Dean's eyes, smirking. "So I guess Faith made it back to her room okay, then?"

"Piss off."

"No ghosts or vampires or demons or lions or tigers or bears lurking out there?"

"Piss. Off."

"Hmm. Her room sure is a long walk away." Dean reached across and smacked the back of Sam's head, and Sam ducked out of the way just a moment too late. "Jackass."

Dean grinned. "Brat. I'm going for a shower." Sam made a small, strangled sound like suffocated laughter. "What?"

"Nothing!"

"Good. Keep it that way, kiddo."

* * * 

Faith was perched on the edge of the crappy table swinging her legs like a kid when he came out of the shower. Her hair was still wet and she was wearing one of Dean's shirts, despite the fact that he knew for a fact that she now had several items of her own clothing, what with having paid for them himself. It crossed his mind to wonder whether she'd just breezed into their room in her bra and helped herself to his clothes, and if so what Sammy had had to say about that. From the way Sam was flushing as she leaned close to him, studying the computer screen, it seemed entirely possible.

Dean checked that the towel was fast in place before he crossed the room to get his clothes. He'd have had no compunction about getting naked in front of Faith or in front of Sam, but getting naked in front of both Faith _and_ Sam felt like a slightly different proposition. He pulled his underwear and his jeans on under the towel with his back to the both of them and then rummaged around for a shirt.

"So I had an idea," said Sam while Dean padded barefoot towards them, pulling a shirt over his head.

"He's kind of the brains of the outfit, isn't he?" Faith said, ruffling Sam's hair and smiling like a cat faced with a particularly fluffy and unsuspecting baby bunny. Dean tried not to growl.

"I was thinking about what Drusilla said last night. A princess of darkness trapped in daylight, and something about being disguised under another name."

"She got a job writing fortune cookies, back in your world?" asked Dean. Faith stuck her tongue out at him and squeezed Sam's shoulder.

"Keep going, kid," she said, fixing her attention on Sam in a way that made Dean want to pick her up bodily and move her away from his little brother.

"I looked up baby names meaning 'Princess of Darkness'. Just in case, you know? I mean, it's kind of tenuous but it's not like she exactly left us a whole lot of clues."

Dean pulled a face. "I figured she was being, you know, poetical. Or, well, fucking batshit insane."

"Maybe. There are plenty of names that mean something like that. But look what I found."

Dean leaned in between Faith and Sam, acutely conscious of the warmth of Faith's body. He glanced at the screen and grew still.

Faith's eyes narrowed. "Spill," she said, watching him closely.

"It doesn't make sense," he said. "Why the hell would Drusilla know Layla in your world?"

"Dean, in this world Bee works for fucking _Wolfram and Hart_. That's like finding that Doris Day's started playing for Black Sabbath. Anything's possible." Faith looked from Dean to Sam. "So who's this Layla chick? Old girlfriend?"

"No! She's just a girl," he said. "I can't believe she'd have anything to do with vampires or demons or anything like that, not even in another universe. She's - she's a real good person. I mean sincerely _good_. And she's dying. She's got cancer, which is just _fucked up_..." His voice trailed off. If things had been just a little different, if Sam had been just a little bit slower, then she wouldn't even be sick any more. Dean didn't want to die, but he'd made his peace with that. He could have accepted that. It had seemed fitting, since someone else had died to give him this second chance - and she'd deserved it more than him. "Hell, she might even be dead by now, for all I know," he said softly.

"Okay, fine, she's a saint, I get it," said Faith. "Not helping. What does she look like? I'm guessing she's a looker from how she got under your skin, Tiger. How old is she? Help me out here - maybe it _is_ just a coincidence, but it's the closest we've got to a clue right now and I'd really like to have some idea where the hell Dru might be headed."

"She's, I don't know - late twenties, maybe? Beautiful. Blonde hair down to - actually, hang on." He crossed the room in two quick strides and plucked Dad's journal out of the pocket where he'd stashed it. He didn't meet Sam's eyes as he flicked through and pulled out a newspaper cutting. It was a photograph of a crowd of mourners, with Roy LeGrange visible in the centre. Layla and her mother were standing a little to his right, dressed in black like the rest of them. "That's her," he said.

"Oh, wow," said Faith softly, staring. It wasn't a very good picture, but Layla's features were clearly visible. "Jackpot." She looked up at Dean. "We need to pack the car _now_, Tiger. I guess she's got to be a great great great great granddaughter or something, because Darla wouldn't have ever gotten vamped here - but, fuck _me_ if she isn't the spit of Drusilla's favourite blonde. Jesus. It's uncanny."

"What are you saying?" asked Dean, feeling his stomach clenching.

"I'm saying that your little Barbie Doll there looks **exactly** like one of the nastier vampires back home. She and Dru and their men were the scourge of Europe back in the day. Drusilla's going to go make herself a new Darla if we don't get there first."


	13. Battery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is driving, and family, and cuteness, and Dean is kind of smitten

"Stake through the heart, decapitation or direct sunlight'll turn a regular vamp to dust." Faith had tried quite hard to flirt and sweet talk Sam into letting her ride up front, and when that had failed she'd tried to get him to arm wrestle her for it, but Dean had intervened. There had been a considerable amount of pouting. Now, as they headed out of the city in the sunlight, Faith was perching on the edge of her seat and leaning far enough forward that her breath tickled Dean's ear. "They can enter churches, but a lot of them won't 'cause they're superstitious. They can look at crosses, but they can't touch them without burning. Holy water - well, you saw. Not big fans of holy water."

"You're quite sure she's going after Layla?" asked Dean again.

"Which part of 'Hell Yes' was confusing, Tiger?"

Dean could see Sam trying to suppress a grin and it irritated him. "But you were real sure she'd go after your girl Buffy."

"That was when I thought Dru didn't have any friends here. Drusilla spent decades running around with Darla and the two guys. It was this whole Big Undead Vamp Family thing. They were like the Musketeers or The Osbornes or something - all bloody mayhem and intense loyalty and that shit. Only with really pointy teeth and profoundly fucked up senses of humour. Just trust me, okay? She's after Darla."

"But this _isn't_ Darla," pointed out Dean, conscious that he was repeating himself but still balking at the connection between the girl he had met and the monster that Faith had described.

"Look, you saw Drusilla. She's not exactly playing with a full deck, is she? I'm telling you, the resemblance is just unreal. Separated at birth, spot-the-difference, Xerox-perfect mirror image unreal. Dru's going to be all over her like a bad case of poison ivy. Especially if she picked up on the cancer thing - man, that's just going to convince her that she's here to save Darla."

"Layla."

"Whatever."

* * * 

"Car?"

"No."

"Clouds."

"Nuh-uh."

"Cassettes."

"Nope. Nice try though, Junior."

"Camels."

"Camels? _Camels?_ Where are the camels? Show me the camels! Do you even know how to play this game? There are no fucking camels _anywhere in sight_. What is this, the Sahara? Have you been drinking? 'Cause if you've been holding out on me I'm going to whip your sorry ass. Camels. Jesus."

"Crow?"

"Nope."

"Chupacabra."

"You're just fucking with me now, Tiger."

"Cows?"

"Nope."

"Corpse."

"Where?"

"In the back of this fucking car pretty soon, _Charity._"

"Oh, ha ha. Man, you suck at this game. Hey! Wendy's! C'mon, Dean, we haven't had breakfast and it's nearly eleven. C'mon. Sammy's hungry, aren't you, babe?"

"I could eat."

"See? He's starving to death right there next to you, your own flesh and blood. Wasting away. Go on, Tiger. Burgers. Fries. Coffee. Think of all the tasty carbs over there. Can't you hear their siren call? Mmmm fries. I bet Sam would like some fries."

"Fine! Fine, okay, we'll stop at Wendy's. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

"What was it?"

"What was what, Sammikins?"

"The word."

"Oh. Candy-ass."

* * * 

"Did it hurt?"

"Did what hurt, Sam-I-Am?"

"The tattoo. Did it hurt?"

"No. Well, it didn't hurt _me_, anyways. But I have a very high pain threshold. Plus I'd had half a bottle of tequila and three sailors by then, so I was flying."

"You are _so_ full of shit."

"Tiger, you're going to make me cry."

"No, but seriously - did it hurt? It did, right?"

"See, I don't know the meaning of pain, Sam, so it didn't hurt me. Are you tempted? You'd look wicked cool with a tat, Sammy. But you might cry like a baby, of course. It's possible. You're very pretty. Are you secretly a girl? A big, tall, flat-chested girl?"

"You are asking for trouble, Sweetheart."

"You going to fight all his battles for him the rest of his life, Tiger? I think Sammy can tell me that he's not a pussy all by himself."

"Faith, you are starting to piss me off."

"Oooh! Is this you angry? Is this what he's like when he's being badass, Sammy? Pretty damn sexy, isn't it?"

"Christ."

"No, go on, threaten me some more. Please. It's making me hot."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Are we nearly there yet?"

* * * 

"I'm going to strangle her," said Dean while they waited in the parking lot for Faith to emerge from the rest stop. "I mean, it's not even like she's from this universe. It's probably not even illegal." He drummed his fingers on the roof of the car. Sam grinned at him. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You love it." Sam shrugged.

"What?"

"Dean, you've been grinning like a total dork all morning. Dude. You've got it bad."

"Bullshit. She drives me crazy.!

"Dean, _I_ drive you crazy."

"Well, yeah. But that's because you're very annoying, bro."

"I learned from the best," replied Sam, his good humour undimmed. "I'm just saying - you dig her, is all. It's cool, Dean. Don't worry about it."

"_You_ don't know what the fuck you're talking about," said Dean firmly. "So maybe you should just shut your face."

"Whatever. I like her."

"Fine. Maybe _you_ should ask her out."

Sam shook his head. "Man, it's always got to be hard work, doesn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Hi boys. D'you miss me?" Faith handed Sam a candy bar, grabbed the front of Dean's shirt and kissed him soundly. For a moment or two he just stood there, but then he crumbled and his hands went around her, pulling tightly into him. It was Faith who broke away first, and she was smiling like a kid at Christmas time. The sight of it went straight through him, and Dean felt himself beaming back like an idiot. She really was something else.

"Let's move it," said Dean, feeling himself reddening. He opened the door for her and didn't look at Sam. "I notice that I don't get any candy," he added, sliding the key in the ignition.

"No Tiger, but you got all the sugar. If you want, I could always give you some of Sammy's candy and Sammy could get a little sugar of his own...?"

"No, no, I'm good," said Dean quickly, and his brother laughed out loud and bit into his chocolate.

"Spoil sport," grumbled Faith.


	14. No Remorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is TV, and cuddling

The motel was clean, the mattresses firm, the TV colour and there was a diner right next door. It was just the crazy decor that sucked. Faith laughed out loud when she saw the lime green wallpaper with its lozenges and ovals, the orange bedclothes, the dirt brown furniture. "Man, it's like the set of a 1970s sitcom in here," she exclaimed.

Dean glanced at Sam, one eyebrow darting up ruefully. Sam shrugged. They'd stayed in worse places. Lots worse. But she'd about nailed it, even so.

"Yeah, whatever. This is you, Trouble." He handed Faith her bag and a key. "We'll be next door. Come knock when you're ready to eat, 'kay?"

Her mouth curved into a lazy grin. "Sure thing."

* * *

"We'll get there first, right?"

The diner was surprisingly good. Dean followed his chicken pot pie with a cup of coffee and a slice of cherry pie, because a person could never have too much pie. He'd been pushing the last fragment around his plate, making patterns in the cream and remembering Layla's smile with a tight feeling in his chest.

Faith licked some chocolate sauce of her fingers meditatively. "Should do," she agreed. "She was hurting when she ran out the door, and she won't be travelling by day. Probably. 'Sides, it's not like she's got a car. But - you never can tell. Vamps are tricky bastards, and Dru's been around the block a time or two."

Dean stared at her. "Well, _that_ was reassuring." He slid the last spoonful of pie into his mouth. It was very good pie.

"If we're late - how you going to feel about dusting her ass?"

Dean swallowed. The pie tasted like ashes. He glanced at Sam, seeing the grim set of his brother's mouth and guessing it mirrored his own. Crap.

"When they rise up from the dead they look the same. And they have all the memories. She'll know you, Tiger. But they don't have souls any more." Faith's voice was careful as she fingered the stem of her empty sundae glass. "They become something new. Hungry and cruel. Don't matter how good they were before, 'cause the bit that _gave_ a shit has gone, and everything's gotten real simple now they're at the top of the food chain." She sounded almost - Dean frowned, trying to put his finger on the emotion tinging her voice. She sounded almost _wistful_. "She gets vamped, your Layla's going to be beautiful and strong and young forever. Or at least for as much of forever as she gets through before I slam a chunk of wood through her." Faith peered at him over the top of the glass. "How you think you're going to feel about that?"

"She wouldn't want to live forever," he said. "Not like that. Not as a monster." He hadn't really answered the question, he knew.

"Then we better make sure Drusilla doesn't save her ass," said Faith, looking at him thoughtfully.

* * *

They all ended up back in the boys' room with a couple of six packs of beer and a bag of chips. Dean sprawled out next to Sam, whose bed was closer to the TV, and flicked the remote until he found a movie he liked. _Underworld_. Sam groaned, and punched his arm.

"This is a pile of shit," said Sam, looking for all the world like he used to do when he was little and nagging after a candy bar, or longer in bed, or more time watching cartoons. "And we've seen it already, Dean. Five times."

Dean shrugged. "I paid for the room, I get Remote privileges. And I like it."

Faith finished unlacing her boots and scrambled up onto the bed, elbowing her way in between them. Dean blinked, and tried to repress the idiotic smile that seemed determined to curve its way across his face when she wriggled into place at his side. "'sides, Kate Beckinsale is totally hot," said Faith, and Dean high fived her with a grin.

"Hell yeah."

"Well, okay, but apart from that it's crap," said Sam.

"Look, Oscar the Grouch, we ain't watching no art house movie crap, so you can just forget about that fucking French film with subtitles that we flicked past right now - yeah, I saw your little eyes light up. But we're not watching it. Unless it was porn. And it wasn't porn. So suck it up, bro."

"Fine."

Sam opened the beers.

* * * 

"Oh, man, that is such bullshit! That would never happen!"

"Well _duh_. Movie. Sheesh, lighten up, Sam-I-Am. Drink more beer already."

...

...

"Oh, that is some lame fighting right there."

"And I suppose you could do better?"

"Damn right I could. You want me to show you, Sammy?"

"Ease off, Sweetheart. Sam, don't even think about it."

"I could so whip your ass, Sammikins."

"Faith."

"Hey, what, a girl's not allowed to whip anyone else's ass once she's whipped yours? Who died and made you Elvis?"

"Where are the chips?"

"Oh. Er - your side of the bed, I think."

"Oh yeah. Chip?"

"Thanks."

"Hey! Hey, mind the - oh, great. Well the least you could do is eat them, Sammy, since you spilled them."

"Lick her there and die, bro. I'm just saying."

"You are such a fucking stick in the mud, Tiger."

"Shut up and watch the movie."

...

...

"No fucking _way!_"

"Man, that's bullshit."

"Yeah."

"She's still hot, though."

"True."

"You finished with your beer?"

"No!"

"Just checking. Thought maybe you weren't drinking it."

* * * 

Faith fell asleep before the end of the film with her fingers laced through Dean's and her head on Sam's shoulder, and neither of them had the heart to move. The movie ended and another one started, and Dean glanced over at his brother's profile and saw that Sam's lashes were sliding down and almost brushing his cheek.

There were an awful lot of things they should be worrying about: all the exciting new beasties from Faith's reality that were out there causing havoc; Dad, wherever the hell he was tonight; Wolfram and Hart, who had sent one of their Senior Partners to visit the Winchesters' home when Sammy was six months old; Layla, who was dying somewhere to the East of them and might be undead when they got to Nebraska. Lots of things. But Dean was full of pie and beer, and Sam was safe and sleepy, and Faith was nestled all warm and curvy between them, holding his hand. He curled in towards her carefully and let his own eyes slide closed.


	15. Holier Than Thou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our heroes catch up with Layla, and keep their eyes peeled for demons

"She isn't staying, you know."

Dean hadn't actually been staring at the fragile wall that separated their rooms; or, if he had, it was just in the absent minded way that people stared at nothing in particular when they were thinking about stuff. Although, admittedly, maybe Faith _had_ been part of what he was thinking about. He turned and glared at Sam, and for a moment the only sounds in the room were the rush of the shower next door and Faith's wobbly singing, which made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in accuracy.

"I know that," said Dean, because he did. Obviously. He wasn't a fucking idiot.

Sam studied him like he was some kind of class project, his head on one side and his eyes dark. "Okay. Okay. I'm just saying."

"Well, don't." He gave Sam his best shut-the-fuck-up-or-I-will-kick-your-ass-from-here-to-Sunday glare, and mercifully Sam accepted it, for once. "So - you know where we can find the Rourkes yet, Dougie Howser?"

Sam glanced back at the screen. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do, actually." He bit his lip. "Look, Dean - what exactly are you planning to do?"

"Keep Layla safe," said Dean easily. "Stop this Drusilla chick from getting to her. Find out how to get Faith home. Kill Drusilla. Send Faith home. Drink my own body weight in tequila and congratulate myself on a job well done."

"And then?"

Dean's heart sank. "What you got in mind, Sam?"

"Wolfram and Hart," said Sam, as Dean had known he would. Shit. He had that god damn _look_ in his eye.

"We can talk about that once we've got this mess cleared up," said Dean, turning to pick up yesterdays socks and stuff them in the laundry bag so he didn't have to look at Sam's face. Christ. Sammy was way too much like Dad.

"We _will_ talk about it," said Sam softly, and Dean swallowed. He sure as hell didn't want Layla in any danger, but the truth was that he was all kinds of glad to be out of LA and far away from Wolfram and Hart right now. The demon had come far too close to kicking their ass last time they met; and, yes, sure, of course he wanted to nail the bastard, but that wasn't what he wanted _most_.

"So we'll talk about it. Fine. Now tell me where Layla Rourke lives."

* * * 

The doorbell played 'Amazing Grace'; Dean could hear it through the wood. When she opened the door he caught a glimpse of a very tidy hallway with fresh cut flowers in a vase and Ella Fitzgerald playing in a distant room. The smell of fresh bread hit him like an unexpected blast of memory; his Mom had liked baking bread, when she had the time. He'd forgotten that. Now it was a smell he associated with malls and grocery shops, impersonal as white noise.

"Mrs Rourke?" Dean had some difficulty plastering a charming smile across his face, because he had a pretty clear idea of how Layla's mother felt about him, and he really couldn't disagree with her. It _wasn't_ fair that he was walking around hale and hearty while Layla was still sick. There was a heartbeat or so of polite puzzlement as Mrs Rourke looked out at him, and then recognition melted the smile right off her face.

"It's you." Dean had heard angry men swear with less vitriol. "What do you want here? You got what you came for, and lucky to get it when you did, for there's been no healing since then, not for anyone." Dean flinched from the hatred that flickered on her face, the certain knowledge of his own guilt stilling his tongue. If he'd not gotten involved - if he'd just accepted his miracle with thanks and left it alone - then Layla would be well by now. Mrs Rourke didn't know that, but it was still true, and it still weighed on Dean's conscience. But someone else would be dead, of course - a whole lot of someone elses, which was the reason he'd had to come back and stick his nose in Roy's business after the healing.

For some reason this knowledge didn't help as much as it should have done.

He abandoned his attempt at a charming smile and settled for earnestness, which was unfeigned. "Beg your pardon, ma'am - we happened to be passing through and I wanted to pay my respects, see how Layla was doing. I'm real sorry she's sick."

She unbent a fraction at the sincerity in his voice, but there was no liking on her face still. "My Layla is working hard and praying harder. The Good Lord in his mercy will help her yet." Her eyes narrowed. "So you've come to gloat?"

"No! No, truly, ma'am. I only wanted to see her for a moment - say hello. I - she's been in my prayers, Mrs Rourke," he said, glad that Sammy couldn't hear him. It wasn't a lie; he wasn't one for praying out loud, and he wasn't real sure what might be out there that was good, to balance all the terrible things in the darkness - but he'd had reason enough to beg whatever _was_ out there to keep Sam and Dad safe, and he'd thought of Layla often. "Is she - Mrs Rourke, could I maybe see her, ma'am?"

"Mama?" Layla's voice was just as he remembered it, low and sweet. Her footsteps sounded in the room where the music was playing.

"It's nothing, child. Don't stir yourself," called Mrs Rourke over her shoulder. She glared at Dean with the full force of a woman who has seen her hopes wither on the bough. "Go away," she said in a tone that would blister paint.

"Mama!" Mrs Rourke had already started to close the door when Layla stepped out into the corridor, and she started like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar. Layla looked from Dean to her mother, her brow creasing. "Mama, what are you doing?"

"He's just leaving," said Mrs Rourke, but her tone carried less conviction under her daughter's reproving eyes.

"Dean, will you stop and have a cup of tea?" she asked gently, gesturing for him to come inside.

Dean stepped over the threshold with alacrity. "Thank you," he said, glancing from mother to daughter.

"Thank _you_ for dropping by, Dean. It's a real kindness," said Layla, leading him into the sitting room. He perched on the seat that she indicated, but she hesitated before joining him. "Now, will you have a cup of tea? Or some home made lemonade, perhaps?"

"No - no thank you. Thank you, ma'am," he added, looking up at Mrs Rourke who was poised in the doorway, clearly determined that her daughter would not be doing anything so exhausting as fetching and carrying beverages for unwelcome guests. Layla nodded and took a seat, then cast an imploring smile at her mother. Mrs Rourke bit her lip and then nodded, her lips pressed tightly together.

"Well - I'll leave you with your visitor then. You mind you don't go tiring her out," warned Mrs Rourke, fixing Dean with her gimlet gaze before sweeping out of the room. The door closed behind her.

"Mama worries," said Layla with an apologetic shrug. "It's been hard for her, I think. But it's so good to see you again! You look well!"

"I - yeah." He'd quickly gotten used to taking it for granted again, had quickly forgotten the sense of frustration at the shortness of his breath and the weakness of his limbs, at having to let Sammy help him do things he should be able to do.

"That's wonderful." She clearly meant it. He felt like shit.

"You look - you look lovely," said Dean, stumbling a little because she did _not_ look well. But she was still beautiful despite the new sharpness of her features and the blue smudges beneath her eyes. Layla Rourke was about as different from Faith as it was possible for a beautiful young woman to be. She was not infuriating or mercurial, she was not flirtatious or aggressive or shocking. She was that rarest of creatures: a lady. The real deal. And she was just as beautiful as he remembered, but her fairness was edging into outright pallor, and she had lost weight. Now she had the near-translucent delicacy of the finest bone china, and looked just as brittle, but she still carried herself with dignity and her smile was still luminous and warm. He swallowed. She deserved something more substantial and honest than the handful of half-truths he had planned to offer her. "Layla, what if - no. I - look, you believe in God, and in Jesus, don't you?" He really hadn't intended to do this, but she didn't deserve double dealing.

"Of course," she said, looking at him oddly. She smiled, but it was a hesitant smile, as if she were embarrassed at her failure to identify the punchline of a joke, or solve a mathematical puzzle.

"Yes. Yes, well - what about the devil?" he asked, looking at her searchingly. "If there is a God - if there's goodness, then what about evil? Do you believe in that, Layla?"

She laughed, and then stopped, trying to read his expression. "Yes," she said at last, clasping her hands in her lap and suddenly grown grave. "Yes, I do. I think the devil tries to tempt us into sin every day." She smiled, and there was a serenity there that Dean could only envy. "But this is part of God's plan too," she said. "We must hold fast to the truth, and trust in God."

He drew a deep breath. "Yes. Well, what if I told you that there were, ah, demons walking the earth," he said, knowing that it was a really bad idea but still ploughing on because he felt sick at the idea of lying. He watched her face, seeing puzzlement and uncertainty there.

"Walking the earth? You mean _literal_ demons?" She smiled uncertainly. "I don't - I don't think I understand."

Bad idea. Really fucking stupid bad idea. Damn. "Literal demons walking the earth. I know it sounds crazy, but - well, yeah." He laughed, and so did she. "Demons. I just - look, I wasn't just passing through, Layla. I came here to warn you that something - bad - might be coming here looking for you. Something dangerous. Something evil." The astonishment in her gaze made him wince. This was _such_ a bad idea.

"For me?"

"It's a long story. But - yeah. Maybe. It will look like a girl - English accent, skinny, long dark hair. But it's not human. It's dangerous. And I think maybe it's going to come after you, because apparently you look like someone it used to know." Layla stared at him, and Dean replayed what he'd just said in his mind and then sunk his head into his hands. "Wow. I wouldn't believe me if I was you either."

"It's not that I don't believe you," she said carefully. "But this is - well, you know, this is a little difficult."

"Yes." He sat up straight in his chair and looked at her, trying to will her to understand and believe and knowing that it was pretty damned unlikely. "I'm sorry, I wasn't going to drop this on you, but I thought you deserved the truth. Please be careful. She can't come into the house unless you invite her." He rose and took her hand. "Just - just be careful, okay? Please?"

And then he turned and left, before he could say anything else stupid.


	16. Where The Wild Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our heroes stake out Layla's house

"Man, I can't believe you just _told_ her," said Sam, for the third time.

"Try," snapped Dean. It was perilously close to sunset, and he was feeling antsy as hell. Monster killing was what he _did_, it was what he'd been trained to do for almost as long as he could remember; it was the whole point of living this way. But remembering their last encounter with Drusilla made his belly roil and his muscles tighten, because she could fuck with his head and he had no idea what to do about that. Oh, Faith told them not to look into her eyes - but that was easier said than done.

And what really terrified Dean, and what he was trying very hard indeed not to know, was that a small part of him still wanted to be lost in her gaze, and to have Sammy at his side just as she'd promised. Immortal. Powerful. Together. Always. It had felt like a precious and terrible gift that he hadn't known to ask for, and he knew that she had, in her twisted way, been perfectly sincere - and that made it infinitely harder than tackling any of the demons he'd dealt with before. Harder in its own way than braving the malice of the thing that had possessed Dad, because he had never wanted to yield to that thing. Harder than anything he could think of, just about.

He parked the car behind the Rourkes' house, on the other side of the road and far enough away that it they shouldn't be noticed by Layla or her mother, but close enough to run like hell and save the day if Drusilla showed up. When Drusilla showed up. They'd agreed that Dean needed to keep out of sight, and so he was taking the back of the house. Sam was going to hang out in the park in front of the house and stake out that entrance - which was risky, since the Rourkes could recognise him, but that was where Faith came in. The prospect of Faith playing at doctors and nurses with his little brother wasn't doing a whole lot to help Dean calm down, and Faith, annoyingly, seemed to be enjoying the hell out of the situation. Sam had been sheepish about the suggestion, but Dean had seen the way he watched Faith, and knew he wasn't exactly unhappy about pretending to make out with his brother's girl. Not that Faith _was_ his girl. Obviously.

"You got your cell?" asked Dean. Sam just looked at him. Of course he had his cell. "Gun? Stakes? Holy water? Clean underwear?"

"Yes, Mom," drawled Faith from the back seat. "And he went to the bathroom before we left the motel too. Sam-I-Am, how the hell do you put up with this shit?"

"Practice," said Sam, grinning. "And occasional bouts of violence."

"Figures. So don't you want to ask about _my_ underwear, Tiger? Or where I'm keeping my stake?"

Dean pulled a face. "A whole world of no. Go on, you two - git."

Sam slid out of the car and Faith followed him with a spring in her step and a roll of her hips. She tucked her hand into the back pocket of his jeans with an easy proprietary air that made Dean grit his teeth. Sam glanced back at the car with an apologetic expression and draped one arm over Faith's shoulder. She leaned in close and whispered something that Dean couldn't hear, and Sam gave a startled yelp of laughter. Dean glared at their backs and told himself it was a disguise, and it had been his idea, and anyway Faith was going to be dropping back out of his life pretty soon and there was absolutely no point in getting pissy about things. Besides, the fact remained that Faith had more experience with Drusilla and her kind of monster than either of them, and that Faith was inhumanly strong and scary fast. He'd rather have her with Sam, watching Sam's back, keeping Sam safe, if they had to split up. And it did make sense for them to split up.

But he was still pissed off.

* * * 

*u still thr tgr?*

*gv sam bck cell*

*no*

*u c nething?*

*no. u?*

*no*

*sam is a gr8 kssr*

*wndrfl*

*jelus?*

*no*

*i cd make u jelus*

*U CD DO UR JOB!!!*

*chill*

*srsly - pt cell away. wtch house.*

*u r so fcking bring*

*bring?*

*boring*

*gt 2 wrk*

*on sam?*

*i cn hrt u*

*in ur dreams*

*bye*

*:)*

* * * 

As dawn started to brighten the sky, Sam and Faith came around the corner hand in hand. They looked pretty much how Dean felt - bored and tired and chilled to the bone. But they were holding hands, and there was, Dean noticed, an easiness between them that hadn't been there before. They looked disgustingly cheerful despite the fact that it had been a long night and they didn't have a single damn thing to show for it.

He really wasn't jealous. He trusted Sam to keep his mind on work and not to break the guy code by hitting on someone Dean was already kind of involved with; and if he didn't quite trust Faith _not_ to set her sights his little brother, he did trust her not to do anything when she was supposed to be concentrating on watching out for vampires. Mostly.

"Well, that was a waste of fucking time," said Faith, yawning as she opened the door and slid into the front of the car. Dean looked from her to Sam, one eyebrow crooked in question, and she grinned, understanding perfectly. "I won. Rock paper scissor. Sammy gets to ride in the back."

"Least we know Layla's safe," said Sam. "We going to get some sleep now?" He yawned enormously.

"Sorry, is protecting girls from monsters cutting into your beauty sleep?" snapped Dean. He should be pleased, he knew. Nothing bad had happened. But on the other hand, he'd spent hours sitting here alone waiting for something bad to happen, and now he was tired and cranky. He could feel Faith looking at him. "What?"

"You always this grouchy after a sleepless night?" she asked.

"I'm not grouchy," he said, grouchily.

Faith laughed out loud and ran a fingertip over the whorl of his ear and down over his jawline.

"Tiger, you're a whole bundle of grouch. You're like Captain Grouch of the Good Ship Grouchypants. You're practically pouting." She pressed his bottom lip. Dean swung round to say something withering, but the moment she caught his eye the sheer ridiculousness struck him and they both started to laugh. And once they'd started, they couldn't stop. It was probably the sleeplessness at work, Dean thought, and this just made him laugh harder. And, after all, _nothing bad had happened_. A little bit of laughter was maybe in order. He turned the key in the ignition and headed off towards their motel, still snorting with laughter.

* * * 

It wasn't until they woke up in the late afternoon and switched on the news that they heard about the bus load of passengers who had been attacked on the way into town late last night by some kind of 'wild beast'. 27 dead bodies and 12 other people unaccounted for; maybe the laughter had been a little bit too soon after all.


	17. Kill 'Em All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our heroes split up

"It's a trap." Dean shovelled a forkful of bacon into his mouth and looked grimly from Sam to Faith. "She's setting us up."

"Maybe," said Faith. "There's still a metric shitload of brand new vampires-to-be out there." She slathered butter onto another piece of toast and covered it with strawberry jelly that glinted like gore. "Get them when they rise - it's like shooting fish in a barrel. Easier than letting them out into the world and running around after them, Tiger."

"If we go to the morgue tonight, she's going to take Layla," said Sam, looking just as grim as his brother. He drummed his fingers on the table, his expression thunderous. Dean was reminded again of their father, even though Sammy really didn't look a damned bit like him. Betty, the plump waitress who had taken their breakfast orders with a twinkle despite the fact that breakfast should have been over hours earlier, leaned in to top up Sam's coffee and he spared her a distracted smile.

"So we split up again," said Faith. "I clean up at the morgue and you boys keep an eye on the blonde. Or you can dust the newbies and I'll wait for Dru." She frowned and bit another chunk out of her toast, licking jelly from the corner of her mouth. "You guys probably ought to take the morgue, actually. It's - I'm not real happy about it, 'cause that's a lot of vamps for two civilians who never dusted a damn thing. But they'll be pretty clueless. Stakes, decapitation, fire - you know the drill."

"We're not civilians," said Dean sharply. "And I don't like it. It's one thing being just around the corner - this will be different. We won't be able to help you if we're on the other side of town."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Dean, I can take care of myself, dipshit. It's you two I'm worried about."

"We're not civilians." Dean glared at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Yeah, well, that's kind of what I'm counting on, Tiger. But I don't have to like it." She tipped sugar into her coffee cup, stirred it, tasted it and tipped in some more. Dean's teeth ached just watching. "But it should be me that waits for Dru. No offence, but - I can't risk losing her. I just can't."

The suggestion that they might not be as capable of handling Drusilla as Faith was galling; but not so galling as the suspicion that she was right.

"Twelve bodies unaccounted for," Dean reminded her after a moment, glancing at Sam. "She might not be alone."

"I'm kind of counting on that too," said Faith, smiling. "Don't want things to be boring."

* * * 

It was not the first time that Dean had broken into a morgue - and just what the hell did _that_ say about him? And what, he wondered ruefully, would Layla Rourke have to say about that, if she knew?

Of course Faith, on the other hand, would probably have some filthy or bloodcurdling (or possibly filthy AND bloodcurdling) anecdote about what happened the last time _she_ broke into a morgue. Dean was kind of glad that he didn't get to hear it.

"Crap," he said, looking at the neckwound on the first corpse without surprise. "This Drusilla's never heard of subtlety, has she?"

"Not so much, no," said Sam, eyeing the bodies. He looked a little disconcerted by their sheer number. "Maybe we should just torch the place?"

Dean was impressed in spite of himself. "Bro, are you seriously suggesting we burn down this government building?" He couldn't help grinning. Sammy wasn't normally big on advocating chaos and destruction.

"Well - yeah. I mean, this is a _lot_ of vampires. Remember Dainty? These bastards are strong, Dean. Real strong. If we burn them now, before they even wake up, we've still got time to hightail it over to the Rourkes' place."

It was pretty damn tempting, when he put it like that. "Okay," said Dean. "You find something flammable, Sammy." He pulled the lighter from his back pocket and his smile widened. "Let's do this."

It wasn't quite as simple as they'd hoped, but then these things rarely were. Sam found several bottles of flammable chemicals that he splashed liberally over the bodies, apologising under his breath to the middle aged lady with the dyed blonde hair, the balding grandfather whose face looked oddly hollow with his false teeth gone, the quarterback with tattoos all over his torso, and all the rest. These weren't mouldering bones to be dug up and salted; they still looked like people. It felt wrong.

The first one rose as Sam was still splashing liquid on the final bodies. Dean spotted it, and even though he'd been waiting for something like this it was still chilling to see the dead flesh stir. Meredith Blaine, a Sunday School teacher - she'd been one of the people mentioned in the news report. The old college photos of her hadn't featured yellow eyes or a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth.

Dean punched his new stake through her heart while she was still sitting on the slab; remembering Faith's advice he jerked the stake back out of her body with some difficulty before she turned to dust. He did have several spare stakes, but not enough to let them get dusted along with the vamps each time he made a kill.

"Well that wasn't so hard," he said, reaching back for the lighter, and that was when the corpse of Eddie McGee, until recently a college football player of some renown, hit him from behind with the force of a falling piano and pinned him to the ground, sending the lighter skittering under a table - and the only thing that stopped Dean from an untimely meeting with his maker was Sam's strong right arm and the clumsily whittled stake he slammed into the dead guy's back and promptly lost in the resulting cloud of dust. After that it was all a chaos of hard and dirty back-alley fighting, no grace, no playing fair, no chance to stop and catch a breath while they ducked and whirled and lashed out - and all the time Dean was trying to get over to where the lighter had gone, but there were hungry naked corpses with glowing yellow eyes and crocodile smiles barring his way.

"You know, some days I really wish I had a desk job," said Sam a little later, his back pressed up against Dean's spine and dust thick on his skin. "Working nine to five. Coffee and doughnuts. Cute little secretaries and all that. It wouldn't be so bad." Dean felt him duck and kick out at the same moment that he spotted the lighter.

"There," he exclaimed, lunging down and grabbing the little handful of metal. "That's more like it!" He bounced up on his feet with the lighter in his hand and grinned back at the vampires just as toothily. He pulled a paper napkin from one pocket and rolled it into a makeshift torch, lighting one end and brandishing it at the new vampires. "See how you like _this_, fuckers!"

It was over swift enough then, and Sam and Dean managed to make their way out through the screaming, flaming throng with nothing worse than scorched eyebrows and burnt fingertips, the fire alarm ringing in their ears. Once they were outside in the hospital parking lot, Dean stepped back and looked at the building, watching yellow flames licking at the glass. It was quite something. He felt a moment's worry lest the fire get out of hand, but there were fire extinguishers and coiled hoses a-plenty, and the fire trucks would be on their way too by now. What was done was done - it was better than unleashing dozens of vampires onto the people in the hospital and the rest of the town, surely. He leaned back against the Impala and called Faith.

"Hey, Tiger," she said, and he found himself grinning at the sound of her. "How's it going?"

"Piece of cake," he said. "Your vampires are pushovers. We've wrapped it up here, so we're coming straight over - anything at your end yet?"

"Not a thing," she said, and he could hear the pout in her voice. "Not a damned thing. They're both in there, 'cause the curtains are open, but there's no sign of Dru." She sighed. "Get your cute little ass over here and keep me company, Tiger."

"Sure thing." He stuffed the cell in his pocket, grinning, and looked around for Sam.

And it was only then that he realised he was alone.


	18. All Nightmare Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is jeopardy...

Thirty minutes later there was still no sign of Sam, and Dean was beyond frantic. The air was thick with smoke and firemen were dashing back and forth and nurses and orderlies were milling on the pavement and _Sammy was nowhere to be seen_.

He finally phoned Faith, furious and helpless and torn up inside but with no fucking idea what else to do, because there were no clues around. If he hadn't insisted that Faith take Sam's cell, then maybe he could have gotten hold of Sam that way, but it was too late to bitch about that now. But not too late to save him. It couldn't be too late to save him. He just needed to figure out where to start looking.

"What's taking you so long?"

"She's got Sammy," he said, the words almost choking him.

There was a shocked silence. "Where are you?"

"Still at the hospital - I've looked everywhere - I know he came outside with me, 'cause I _saw _him, but then I just turned my back for a minute and he was gone. Fuck. Fucking fucking _fuck._"

"Dru."

"Got to be."

"Damn."

"You seen anything?"

"No. D'you want me to come to you, or will you come get me?"

Dean stared around blindly. He didn't want to leave this place, but Sam wasn't here any more. He was wasting time. "I'll come get you. Stay put." He hung up before she had time to say anything else and got into the car. This could not be allowed to happen. He was not going to let this happen.

* * * 

"He's not dead." It was the first thing Dean had said for too many long minutes, and he couldn't stand the way that Faith bit her lip and hesitated before replying. She shouldn't be sitting next to him in the front of the car. That was Sam's place. "He's _not_ dead," he repeated, looking right at her and daring her to disagree.

"Okay. Okay, Tiger. If she's keeping him alive it's because he's a bargaining chip. If she's going to bargain, she'll need to get a message to us, right?" He nodded. "So we just have to figure out how she'd do that." They stared at each other. "'Course, it would help if she wasn't totally fucking insane, but never mind. We can do this."

"The motel?" suggested Dean at last.

Faith chewed her bottom lip and darted a glance back at the Rourkes' house. "But what if that's just what she wants us to think? So we leave this place unguarded?"

Dean brought both hands down hard on the steering wheel. Faith just looked at him. He counted to ten in his head and then turned to look back at her. "I don't know," he said evenly. "I just - I don't know. You got any secret info on Drusilla, this would be a real good time to share it." Faith shook her head and Dean did not swear or punch anything. "Then we're going back to the motel."

"Okay."

* * * 

Dean didn't know what he'd been expecting - maybe Sammy sitting on the end of the bed with a smug grin on his face, maybe a note written in blood pinned to the door - but the motel rooms were just the way they'd left them. Dean paced back and forth several times while Faith watched him and then he strode off to ask the front desk if they'd had any messages.

No messages.

Five minutes later he was sitting on the crappy chair where Sam had perched earlier that day. His head was aching and his chest felt like it had been hollowed out. He was itching to blow a hole in something. He had no idea what to do. "She's got to have him someplace," he said, without opening his eyes. "Some place she feels safe. Some place she could get to easy enough, new in town like she is. Maybe some place where she's got all the other ones, the people from the bus. So it's some place big."

"Okay," said Faith slowly. "Is there anyplace you've been here? Anyplace she might have picked out of your memories?"

"No," snarled Dean, hating himself all over again for having gotten Sammy into this and having no idea how the hell to get him out. "The only place I went before was the tent and Roy's house." He paused, and then turned to look at Faith. "Roy's house. She might just - shit. He's blind, a holy man, but he's living on his own now. And he's only alive because of black magic. And there was a fucking _altar_ in his basement where his wife summoned a reaper to kill people she didn't like." He stood up and took two quick strides to where Faith sat and kissed her hard. "That's it. That's got to be it. That's where she is."

* * * 

They got Roy’s number from the phone book and Dean called him up, knowing full well that it was very late to be disturbing an elderly, blind and widowed preacher and not giving a good god damn. There was no answer, and that, as far as Dean was concerned, was answer enough.

“We need to be smart,” said Faith, her face more serious than he had seen it yet. She hadn’t smiled once since he collected her from the front of the Rourkes’ house, and Dean was glad of it. “We don’t know how many are in there, or where she’s got him, or what kind of state he’s in.” Her brows drew together. “We’ve got to get this right, Dean.”

“You think I don’t _know_ that?” He hated her at that moment.

“I think you’re ready to tear this town apart with your bare hands about now, Tiger,” she said, looking at him far too knowingly. “I think you’re thinking with your heart here, not your head.” And she kissed him, which was just as well, because he was on the brink of saying something truly savage in reply. “I do get it. I mean, I never felt that way about _family_, but – I get it. But we’ve got to get this right. So – we’re looking at maybe a dozen vamps? Preacher maybe dead, maybe vamped, maybe even a prisoner if Drusilla thinks it’s funny.” It would have been so damn easy for Drusilla to knock on the old man’s door and ask to come inside. Roy would have had no idea what was on his porch; hell, he’d never even guessed at the nature of the wife who lay at his side in bed and prayed at his side for all those years, so what chance could he possibly have against Drusilla? “We might be best waiting for daylight,” said Faith, slowly, raking a hand through her hair. “Some of them will be asleep, maybe, and then there’s sunlight on our side too.”

“No fucking way.” Dean cut her off, not bothering to hide his irritation. He could not possibly just sit around waiting for hours while Sam was at the mercy of that crazy bitch. Simply not going to happen. Oh, he could see the sense of the suggestion, but every minute that Sammy was missing was one minute too many.

Faith looked at him, and his expression must have spoken volumes because she bit her lip and then nodded. “It’s not – but, okay. Okay. Let’s go.”

He was out the door and in the car within seconds. “Sam’s our first priority,” he said, knowing that she had her own agenda with Drusilla and absolutely not about to negotiate on this point. “We get Sammy out. End of story.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” Her tone was dry. “And here I thought we were going to exchange knitting patterns.”

Dean didn’t even glance at her, but his heart lifted. “Just checking we’re all on the same page,” he said. When she smacked him on the back of the head he almost smiled.

“Shit. We really don’t have anything like a plan, do we?” She sounded rueful, but not at all daunted.

Dean pulled out of the car park. “Sure we do: save Sam; kill Drusilla. It’s a good plan. Flexible. Simple. Easy to remember. I like it.”

“Save Sammy. Find out how I get home. _Then_ kill Drusilla.”

Dean shrugged. “Details,” he said. He was, he realized, very glad to have her there. If he couldn’t have Dad along to help him save Sammy’s ass, then he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have with him right now. It was a surprising thought.

* * * 

They didn’t go busting through the front door, although Dean had sure been tempted. The light pouring out of every window was pretty clear indication that old Roy wasn’t on his own in there. If he was still alive at all.

“The cellar,” murmured Faith, her hand like a steel manacle when it closed around his wrist, pulling him up short. “You said there was a cellar.” Dean looked back at her consideringly, then nodded. It was as good a place as any to start.

There really was no sneaky way of getting into the cellar, so the only question was who went first. Dean was very firmly of the opinion, expressed silently through scowls and grimaces and gesticulations, that it should be him. Faith, just as adamantly, disagreed. They did not quite come to blows over it, but for a moment it seemed that they might, and although Dean knew intellectually that she could kick his ass, he still had absolutely no intention of backing down. They glared at one another in the darkness outside Roy LeGrange’s house, the door to the cellar between them, and Dean could feel all the fury and frustration that had been seething within him since the moment he had realised that he’d lost his little brother coming to a head.

And then Faith, unexpectedly, smiled. And mimed the gestures for rock, paper, scissors.

Dean won.

* * * 

The cellar was lit by candles – dozens of them, fat and white with wax rolling down their sides like tears to pool on the ground. The first thing that Dean saw in the flickering golden light was Sam sprawled out on the ground like a discarded rag doll. Somewhere along the way he had managed to lose his shirt, and the pale skin of his chest was scored with a haphazard red tracery of welts beaded with blood.

Drusilla, Dean remembered as he stumbled forwards, had very sharp nails.

“Sam? Sammy, we’re taking you home,” said Dean, hunkering down and closing his hand over his brother’s shoulder. The skin felt shockingly warm under his fingertips. Behind him he heard Faith’s boots hitting the ground, but he kept all his attention focused on Sam, whose eyes were shadowy and lost. “Sam?” Dean swallowed. Sam stared back at him blankly, his pupils enormous and no hint of recognition crossing his face. His lips were slightly parted and they shone in the wavering light. “God damn it, Sammy. Snap out of it.”

“Keep it down, Tiger,” breathed Faith, stepping closer. “Crap. He’s stoned, or witched, or some stupid fucking thing. We’re going to have to carry him.”

“I’ll kill her,” said Dean tightly, looking at the vulnerable line of Sam’s exposed throat and taking in the delicate curves carved into his skin, curling over collarbones and edging around nipples. “I’ll fucking kill her for this.” He was shaking when he glanced over at Faith. “Help me.”

They hoisted Sam to his feet and he hung between them as loosely as a sleeping child, his head lolling on the stem of his neck. Sam was not light, but Faith hefted his weight with an ease that belied her stature. It was certainly going to take the both of them to get him out of the cellar, pliant and helpless as he was.

They were almost directly under the hatch when Drusilla’s face appeared over one edge, smiling as her midnight hair spilled down towards them. She still bore the scars of the holy water Dean had tossed at her, although the burns had grown faint already, healing more quickly than Dean would have thought possible.

“Oh no you don’t” she said, her voice making it into a singsong reproof. Dean made an incoherent exclamation of fury and her smile widened. “His blood sings in his veins. He tastes like electricity and he smells like pain and buttercups. He’s to be a birthday present.”

“Fuck that,” snarled Dean, but it was Faith who moved fastest, shrugging nimbly out from under Sam’s arm and lunging towards the ladder, a stake appearing in her hand so fast that Dean never even saw her reach for it. Drusilla watched her come, wide eyed and interested, and when Faith was almost at the top the vampire hurled a handful of powder and petals into Faith’s face. She fell back, coughing and spluttering, and the candle-warmed currents of air sent the violet powder and the pale petals swirling around the room to be singed in the flames.

“Down again, down again, jiggity jig!” crooned Drusilla, watching Dean reel as the scented air filled his lungs. Faith was on her knees, coughing and clutching at her throat. “It’s not your turn yet, you naughty mice. Squeaking and scurrying under the floorboards! The cat has more important games to play, but tomorrow she shall go a-hunting, at the birthday party.” Struggling not to drop Sam, Dean sank to his knees. The world was spinning and softening around him. “Off to the land of nod, little mice,” sang Drusilla. She sounded miles away, and her laughter was the last thing that Dean heard before the darkness claimed him.


	19. The Judas Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is a daring escape, but things, alas, do not go as smoothly as our heroes hope...

There was no knowing how long they would all have remained unconscious if Sam hadn’t had the vision; the last candle had already guttered when he woke them all up. Dean was dragged back into consciousness by a sudden series of shudders that ran through Sam’s body and a half-stifled cry that vibrated through Dean’s shoulder, where Sam’s face was pressed. Pinioned under his brother’s weight, Dean shifted and wriggled until he was on his back underneath Sam, reaching with frightened fingers for his brother’s face on pure instinct even as his sluggish memory scrabbled to figure out where and when the hell they were. “Sam?” he said hoarsely. “Sammy, you okay?” They were both panting as if they’d been running for their lives, and Sam’s skin was cool but slicked with sweat, clammy under his skimming hands. Dean picked out the delicate patterns of random welts marring the smooth surface, and after a baffled moment he remembered it all. “Sammy?” he said again, his tone more tentative now, a little desperate.

“Dean?” Sam’s hands clutched at him and his voice was scared and urgent that it sent a spike of angry fear thrilling through Dean in turn.

“Man, you guys sound like porn.” Faith’s voice cut through the darkness, reassuringly unruffled. “You _sure_ you’re brothers?”

“Faith?” That sounded more like Sam. “Where are we? What happened to the lights?”

“Underground – the Rourkes’ cellar,” said Dean, easing himself out from under Sam’s weight. “Long story. You okay now?”

“I – yeah. Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t sound too certain. “But – shit, Dean, we’ve got to do something. She’s going to kill her.”

“Who’s going to – Layla?” Dean’s heart sank.

“Yeah. The vampire’s going to kill her tonight, and when she rises – it’s going to be bad, Dean. Really fucking bad. Together they’ll be really – look, we’ve got to get out of here and stop it, and I mean now.”

Dean blindly rubbed the back of his hand over his damp forehead. Great. Wonderful.

“Sounds good to me,” said Faith, and from her voice Dean could tell she’d risen. “There ought to be a light switch in here someplace, surely? I mean, regular people don’t rely on a gazillion candles to light their cellars, right?”

“I guess,” said Dean. Roy was blind and his crazy wife hadn't exactly been regular people, but who knew? He sat up tentatively, ready to help Sam if he needed it, but Sam got to his feet easily enough and Dean followed suit.

“What do you remember?” he asked roughly, trailing his fingers over the uneven surface of the wall in search of a light switch and trying not to think about the scars. Fucking vampires.

“I remember the fire at the hospital,” said Sam. “And then – and then it’s just dreams.” Dean really didn’t like the way his voice changed.

“What kind of dreams?” He could hear Faith pacing along the walls on the other side of the room.

“Nightmares. Or – well. I. Nightmares. Some of them. But then – I thought I woke up and – shit. I thought that I saw Jessica. Jess was alive, and I’d been dreaming – all this was the dream, you coming to Stanford, her death, Dad, Meg, all of it. It was all a nightmare, and I woke up back in bed with her, and I was just so fucking relieved that it wasn’t true after all. That I’d escaped after all.”

“Christ, Sam,” said Dean, stopping quite still and blinking hard in the darkness. What the hell was there to say to that? Sorry I dragged you back into this life? It would be a lie, and they both knew it. Dean had missed his little brother like a severed limb. Sure, there had been a little thrill at first at being the only one with Dad, at being the loyal one, at showing Dad that _he_ knew how to follow orders, that _he_ didn’t demand explanations, that _he_ would never leave. That he could be trusted. A little thrill, but it faded quickly, and he had ached with Sam’s absence. The car had felt empty, the motel rooms dull and lifeless. There was no playfulness, no glee, no _friendship_ left in Dean’s life when Sammy walked out of it – only the job, the mission, unquestioning obedience and twice as much work to make up for Sam’s absence and to prove to Dad that they were still a team, still a family. Only that, and the blessed release of beer and flirtations and one night stands and, once, a girl who had made him hope for a different kind of life. Foolishly, he knew now. But he’d never stopped missing Sammy, and even with the bone-deep fear that ruled him when Dad didn’t show and didn’t call and stayed away for week upon week, sending him finally to Stanford with an excuse to see Sam – even with that fear, his heart had just leapt at the sight of his brother. He couldn’t quite bring himself to apologise for dragging Sammy back into this mess, although he hurt to think that Sam still wanted to be out of it all.

“Screw this, we’ll have to do it in the dark. And that, believe it or not boys, was _not_ a proposition.” Faith sounded pissed, and Dean made himself focus on the matter at hand. He heard her scrambling up the ladder towards the cellar’s hatch door and waited. “Can’t really do this quietly, so we might just find ourselves with a welcome party,” she muttered, and then punched the door clean off its hinges.

Dean was pretty glad that she was on their side.

“Where?” he asked Sam, as he followed him up the ladder. “Where did you see it happen?”

“Here, I think,” said Sam. He blinked in the comparative brightness of the moonlight and the glow of the streetlights, and Dean stared at the lines scratched into his pale skin and felt violent. “I think she’s already here.”

“Here? Oh, for fuck’s sake,” muttered Dean.

“Listen,” said Faith, who was close to the house and looking up at one of the windows intently.

They listened, and Dean stiffened when he caught Layla’s familiar tones. “…be here?” she said, her sweet voice raised in question. He bit his lip, and hated himself for wondering whether the best thing to do would be for all of them to pile into the Impala and get the hell out of town while Drusilla was distracted. But he couldn’t leave Layla. It was his fault she was even in this mess – his stupid fucking memories that had brought a vampire hunting her down. He couldn’t walk away from that.

He glanced over at Sam, whose eyes were still shadowed and whose skin bore the marks of Drusilla’s affections. “Get in the car,” he said. He wasn’t entirely surprised at the disgusted shake of Sam’s head, and pride warred with concern in his heart. “God damn it, Sammy, don’t fucking fight me on this one. You’re in no state to go up against her again,” said Dean.

“Did you hear that, my dear?” Drusilla’s voice carried through the open window, and they all froze, staring at the square of light. “I think that the mice are coming out to play.”

“So I guess the element of surprise is kind of fucked,” said Faith, looking from Sam to Dean and then back up at the window. “We doing this?”

“Sam, _please_,” said Dean, horribly torn. Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at him.

“I was just wondering when Roy would be here,” said Layla again. There was an edge of fear in her voice that made Dean feel more furious than ever. He had warned her, damn it. He’d told her exactly what Drusilla looked like, and she’d walked right into the lion’s den.

“Dean, you’re wasting time,” said Sam. “There is no way I’m waiting around in the car while you do this. And we have to do this. I saw – look, we have to do this. Come on.”

“Faith, back me up on this, damn it,” said Dean, conscious that every second was a second wasted but hating the idea of letting Sam anywhere near Drusilla.

“He’s a big boy, Tiger.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Hell with this. I’m going in. Come with me or go back to the motel, boys – your call. I want to finish this.” And then she was sprinting towards the front door, and Sam was a heartbeat behind her.

Dean swore under his breath and followed them at a run. Faith was faster than either of them, and so it was Faith who kicked the door open, and Faith who was the first one in – but Dean and Sam were just a hair’s breadth behind.

“Layla,” yelled Dean, even though he couldn’t see her yet. “Run!”

“Stake?” said Sam, looking hopefully at both of them. Faith tossed him a chunk of wood without looking at him as they all dashed towards the room where the voices had come from; Dean felt a surge of stupid pride at how deftly Sam snagged it out of thin air. They drew up in front of the threshold, and then they all stopped short.

Drusilla was sitting next to Layla on a dusty loveseat, her face human, but a predatory smile curving her mouth. She was holding Layla’s hand. Around them were seated a dozen or so children of varying ages, with their hands folded neatly in their laps. They were all dressed in oddly archaic clothes and wearing the same hungry little smiles as Drusilla.

“Shit,” said Dean with feeling. He really hated it when the monsters looked like women or children.

“Dean?” Layla, already startled by their sudden and noisy appearance, looked scandalized by his exclamation. And frightened, he noticed, as well she should. Damn it.

“Don’t trust them,” he said as his fingers closed around the stake he had jammed into his pocket earlier in the evening. “She’s a vampire. They’re all vampires. Run, and don’t look back.”

But Drusilla’s fingers were wrapped tightly around Layla’s. And then Drusilla turned gracefully towards him, and when her eyes locked with his he recoiled, remembering just too late why this was a very bad idea.

“Son, you’re standing right next to the vampire,” said Dad, a terrible mixture of impatience and disappointment in his voice. Dean had fucked it up again. He glanced over at Sammy, reading the same startled shame that he was experiencing in his brother’s eyes, and they both turned towards Faith.

“Oh, Jesus. You have _got_ to be kidding me,” she said, her yellow eyes widening with incredulity.


	20. The Struggle Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which asses are kicked, punches are thrown, and blood is spilled

This was how it was meant to be, thought Dean, exhilaration rising in him like a tide. This was what he’d been missing: the three of them together again, and nobody dying, nothing terrible or secret. Just the three of them, and another monster to be put away. Sam was moving quietly away from him without any words passing between them, knowing that Dad would want them to divide her attention. Dean was smiling so brightly his face almost hurt.

“Tiger, snap out of it. Dean? Sam? Do _not_ make me do this, damn you!”

They circled her, cautious, well aware that she had more than human strength. But so did a lot of things, and the Winchesters had still managed to kill them one way or another.

“Layla – don’t – look, you idiot, get the hell away from her before she – oh, for Christ’s sake!”

While she was distracted by Dad and spouting nonsense, Sam moved. He was fast, and it was a good move, and with a normal person it would have worked. He went to sweep her legs out from under her, and she jumped over his feet and came down cat-light and poised for violence.

“Dru’s killing her, Sam! Just like in your vision! Wake up and smell the blood, Tiger – she’s just fucking with your head while she – oh my God, I cannot _believe_ you are falling for this shit again.” She kept up her meaningless chatter while they both attacked, ducking and weaving and dodging most of their blows with a startling mixture of grace and agility; but Dean still caught her a few times, either by luck or judgment, and his knuckles ached sweetly with the contact. She wasn’t fighting back properly, though – her moves were all defensive, and although her blows were shockingly hard, sending Sam sailing through the air and smashing Dean back against the wall, he was still sure that she was holding back. It pissed him off, and there was no way that they were letting her get to Dad; so while Sam went for her throat he hefted his makeshift stake, took careful aim just like Dad had taught him, and hurled it straight for her as hard as he could.

It didn’t get her heart – she moved too fast – but it did catch her a glancing blow to the head and it hit with enough force to stun her. She stumbled and almost fell. Sam, whom she’d knocked across the room again, was already scrambling back up and ready to attack again, and Dean saw that he had no stake left either.

Damn it.

Dean glanced over at his Dad and saw that Layla had fainted, and that Dad was holding her in his arms. He seemed to be whispering in her ear, his head bowed very close to hers. Dad wasn’t even watching the fight, and Dean felt a glow of pride that he knew that he could trust them to finish it without his help.

But he’d lost his stake now, and so had Sammy. His gun was in his hand before he’d consciously thought of it. It wouldn’t kill her, of course, but it just might slow the bitch down long enough for one of them to shove a chair leg through her heart.

She must have heard something, or maybe it was Sammy’s expression that gave it away, because Faith spun just as he squeezed the trigger.

He still hit her.

Blood welled up as he watched, and she looked down at the wound in her arm with an expression of total disbelief, rocking back on her heels.

Drusilla’s laughter cut through the air a heartbeat or two after the bullet sank home. “Oh, perfect! You do know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you, you naughty boys?” she said, sounding quite delighted.

Dean stared at Faith, his vision shifting and buckling strangely. It felt a little like the moment when the white vase becomes two silhouettes, or the old crone resolves itself into a young woman with a feather in her hat. Dad had never been here. He was fighting the wrong girl.

The air smelled of blood and gunpowder, they were surrounded by avid-faced vampires and he had just put a bullet through Faith’s arm. And Layla Rourke, he saw a moment later, sick at heart and awash with sudden guilt, was dead in Drusilla’s arms.

* * * 

“I knew there was a damn good reason why I prefer to work alone,” said Faith, pressing her arm and scowling. Her face was pale, but she was still stranding straight and tall and she looked mad enough to take on everyone in the room. “Guns. Jesus. Fucking _guns_.” She didn’t even glance at Dean.

Drusilla looked at her sternly. “You spoiled my baby’s birthday present,” she said. “It was going to be a delicious surprise and now it’s all ruined.” She looked at Dean, and he only just remembered to look away in time. “A matched pair. A warrior and a seer, bound by love and blood and tears, Four is my very favourite number, and now that Daddy’s gone it could have been something _new_, all bright and lovely and shining in the moonlight.” Her voice grew petulant. “But you spoiled my surprise, and now I don’t know if I even want them.” She glanced from Dean to Sam and back again, pouting, but after a moment the sternness melted off her face. “But they _are_ so very pretty, all brimming with fire and fear and guilty, and secrets left unspoken.” She smiled. “I’ll keep them.” It was all Dean could do to keep from looking back into her eyes. “But we don’t need you, slayer.” The children, who had sat through everything as demure as little dolls, all rose together and stepped forwards. “My babies will drink your blood like elderflower wine and grow quite drunk upon it! And we shall dance and sing and have such jolly games once you are gone, me and my new family.”

“Like hell you will,” said Dean, meeting Sam’s eyes and seeing perfect agreement there. He grabbed the wrist of Faith’s unwounded arm and tugged it, and the three of them ran like hell.

* * * 

Faith was not impressed.

“This was not the plan,” she spat as they ran out of the house. “I remember the plan. It was simple. Flexible. Easy to remember. Save Sammy; find out how I get home; kill Drusilla. Not: Save Sammy; shoot Faith; run like whipped little bitches. I didn’t get that particular memo, Tiger.”

“Can you just shut the fuck up?” asked Dean without very much hope, glancing behind him. “Which part of ‘live to fight another day’ is confusing you?”

“The part where we’re running away!” she snarled – although they’d both stopped running now as they neared the Impala, and so had Sam. “Also? You fucking _shot_ me!”

Dean blanched. “Er. Yeah. I – yeah. Sorry.” Which really didn’t cover it, obviously. Shit. He really fucking hated being in the wrong. Maybe Hallmark made a card – ‘Sorry I shot you, can we still have sex?’’ It was probably in the same aisle as the ‘Thanks for the superpowers, Bitch. RIP’ selection. Or maybe not. He was almost certain that other people’s lives were less complicated than his. “Look, we need a better plan,” he said, trying very hard not to think about Layla’s limp body in Drusilla’s arms as he opened the door and pulled the keys out of his pocket.

“No shit, Sherlock!” She glared at him, and then when both Faith and Sam reached for the front passenger door at the same time she moved her glare to Sam instead. “Now look, Sammy, I know that this is your big rescue and all, but right now I’m putting the shot into shotgun. Get your skinny ass in the backseat right now, and do not try my patience any further than it’s already been tried.”

Sam got his ass into the back seat without another word, and Dean really couldn’t blame him. As he pulled away from the curb he caught a glimpse of a pale oval framed with dark hair peering out of the window, and he shuddered.

“I’m kind of thinking we should maybe get out of town,” said Sam, after they’d driven in silence for a while. “Find an amulet or a ward spell or, you know, _something_ to keep her out of our minds.” Dean glanced into the mirror, not liking his brother’s tone one bit, and caught Sam tracing the marks on his shoulder with an idle fingertip. Jessica. Jessica and what else, Dean wondered, hating Drusilla as much as he had ever hated anything in his life.

“Man, she totally had you boys whipped, didn’t she?” said Faith. “You two were about as much use as a nun in a whorehouse.”

“Thanks,” snapped Dean. He hadn’t wanted to go in there in the first place.

“Hey, when I shoot _you_, Tiger, then you can be a pissy little bitch all you like.” Well, there was that.

“An amulet,” repeated Dean, pondering. “You think there is one? Or a spell?”

“Screw this,” said Faith. “We’re going to get me patched up and you boys are going to stay home and watch reruns of _Gilligan’s Island_ while I go back there and dust the little vampire moppets and stake Layla’s undead ass, and beat the crap out of Drusilla until I find out _how to get home_. And then I’m going to kill her. Hard.”

“You can’t go in there without backup,” protested Sam at the very same moment that Dean said:

“No way!”

“My fucking backup _shot me_,” said Faith, and Dean winced. She really wasn’t going to forget that in a hurry. Not that he could blame her.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Man, Tiger, you suck,” she said. But she actually sounded more amused than pissed. “You owe me big time.”

Perversely, the fact that she seemed to find it funny actually made Dean feel worse. But at least Sammy was safe, he reminded himself, and the thought unknotted some of the tension in his body. Sammy was safe. The rest he could deal with. Although apparently one thing that he couldn’t deal with, at least without magical assistance, was Drusilla. Which was pretty damn embarrassing.

“So we should go to the hospital, I guess,” said Dean. He’d been heading there on autopilot for the last ten minutes, he realised.

“It’s a clean wound,” said Faith, examining her arm and wincing. “Went right through. Didn’t hit a bone, didn’t do any serious damage. Tiger, you shoot like a _girl_. We could patch this up at the motel. Well, a motel. Wherever we’re headed.”

“You – I – for Christ’s sake, Faith, you don’t have to be macho about this. You had a bullet go through you.” And, granted, if it were Dean he probably wouldn’t bother with a hospital either, but that was not the god damn point.

“Dean, the last time you were at this hospital you set the place on fire and you lost Sammy. I think that we can steer clear of the hospital. I’m good. Five by five.”

“Bullshit. I’m driving, and I say you need a professional to take care of that arm.”

“This is nothing,” said Faith, and there was so much scorn in her voice that he almost believed her. “This is a love scratch, Tiger. I heal fast, and it takes a damn sight more than this to slow me down. C’mon. Motel. Chinese food. Crap TV. Beer. Way more fun than hanging out in the hospital.”

“No.” Dean had been told, on occasion, that he was one stubborn son of a bitch. He really couldn’t disagree with the claim. But she’d been shot, damn it. He’d shot her. She needed fixing up properly.

There was a grumpy silence in the car that extended into a pissed silence and then became a positively ominous silence. Dean glanced sidelong at Faith and wondered why his life was never ever simple.

“Rock paper scissor?” suggested Sam, from the back seat, and they both laughed in spite of themselves.

Faith won.


	21. Nothing Else Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there are eggrolls, and first aid kits, and unexpected erections

“The problem with motels,” said Faith, picking at an egg roll as Dean patched up her arm, “is that they’re no man’s land. Vamps can just waltz on in without any invitation. Which pretty much sucks.” She had peeled off her blood-soaked t-shirt and was sitting cross legged on the edge of the bed in a sports bra and jeans. This did not really help a person to concentrate.

“Having a house didn’t do much to help Roy or Layla,” pointed out Dean. As silver linings went, this wasn’t really one of the shiniest ones, but it was the best he could come up with. The prospect of waking up to find Drusilla’s fangs in his throat one night was going to give him a whole new flavour of nightmare to look forward to.

“Mind you, I bet the bastards can’t get into your car,” she said thoughtfully, licking sweet and sour sauce from her fingers. “That’s home, isn’t it?”

Well, _that_ was something. “Finished,” said Dean, looking at his handiwork with some satisfaction. Not bad. Not bad at all. He still wished she’d agreed to go to the hospital, but turned out that she hadn’t been exaggerating about the healing thing. Faith’s flesh was knitting itself up already. Damn handy skill to have in this line of work. Dean snagged the last egg roll and bit into it, letting himself pay a little more attention to the rest of Faith now that he’d fixed up the damage.

Damn, but she was hot.

And, remarkably, she didn’t seem especially pissed about the bullet. Or at least, no more than Sam would have been. Whereas Cassie – well, he couldn’t imagine a situation in which he’d have ended up shooting Cassie, but if he HAD ever done something like that, it would have been a very big fucking deal indeed.

Behind them the bathroom door opened, and Sam stepped into the room with a towel slung around his hips and a self-conscious expression on his face. Faith had been adamant about them all sharing a room; she said that she wasn’t about to take her eye off either of them. Although Dean didn’t much like the implication that he would become Drusilla’s buttmonkey as soon as she winked at him – well, his record so far was pretty embarrassing. Better safe than sorry. There were only a few hours of darkness left, but he had no intention of losing either Sammy or Faith, or being lost himself, so he didn’t argue.

Which led to the sheepish expression on Sam’s face as he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He’d forgotten to take his clean clothes in with him. Dean started to grin, but then his eye was caught by the bloody scribbles all over his brother’s skin and his smile faltered. Fucking _vampires_.

“C’mere,” he said, scrabbling in the first aid kit – which was quite a bit more extensive than your average Brady Bunch First Aid kit, but still included the basics. His questing fingers found the pot of antiseptic cream and he waved it in the air. “I said c’mere, Sam.”

“I’m good,” said Sam, looking longingly at the bag where his clean clothes were hiding.

Dean snorted. “Enough with the fucking macho crap, already. I’ve had enough of it with _her_. Humour me.”

Faith wriggled further down the bed and patted the space between them invitingly. “C’mon, kiddo. If he hurts you, I’ll kiss it better.”

“God help me,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. But he stepped over to the bed and sat down n the edge. Dean slid further back so he could concentrate first on the scratches that swirled over Sam’s spine. His mouth tightened as he took in the damage. The cuts were shallow, but extensive.

“Bitch,” he muttered with feeling, gathering up a fingerful of cream and smearing it over the looping line on Sam’s left shoulder. He could tell from the tension in his brother’s shoulders and the bitten off hiss of indrawn breath that it stung, and he tried to make his next touch gentler. This too, he thought grimly, was his fault, just as surely as Faith’s bullet wound. He was supposed to _take care of Sam_. That was his job. And it sure as hell didn’t include letting some psychotic vampire queen use him as a scratching post. Dean smoothed the cream softly over Sam’s broken skin, feeling the hard planes of muscles and the breadth of his brother’s shoulders with mild surprise. He knew how much Sammy had grown, of course, and he’d seen him half dressed and butt naked often enough – but there was still a corner of his mind that thought of Sam as a lanky twelve year old with skinned knees and too-large hands and feet, despite all evidence to the contrary; the corner of his mind that was always bemused to find Sam was somehow taller than him. The angles and curves of this body were quite definitely not those of a twelve year old; it was both familiar and surprising.

Sam tried to stifle a shudder as Dean traced a particularly nasty scratch down over his hip. Dean bit his lip. Stupid how paper cuts and dumb little scratches sometimes hurt more than a real wound. He remembered all the other times when he’d patched up his little brother’s scrapes; all the band aids pressed onto soft pink knees while Dad was off on one of his monster hunting expeditions and Sammy had taken a tumble in the schoolyard; all the gauze and cotton swabs cast bloody into motel trashcans after the three of them had returned from hacking something vile into oblivion. He scooped some more cream out of the pot and traced another line carefully around and over the plane of Sam’s flat belly and along the side of his belly button and Sam made a small ragged noise in the back of his throat. Dean winced. “Sorry,” he said, trying not to feel miserable. He really didn’t want to hurt Sam, but somehow he always seemed to end up doing exactly that. Damn it.

“No, it’s – I, sorry. Sorry. It doesn’t hurt,” said Sam unconvincingly. Dean glanced up at Sam’s face and was a little startled by the desperation in Sam’s eyes and the pinched line of his mouth.

Shit. Doesn’t hurt my ass, he thought, and hated Drusilla some more. He rubbed a comforting little circle onto the unsullied curve of Sam’s right hip with the ball of his thumb. “Nearly done.” He smeared the cream very carefully up over the intersecting wriggles on Sam’s chest, paying particular attention to the painful-looking lines that curved around Sam’s nipples. At least she hadn’t sliced _through_ them, reflected Dean, because surely that would hurt like a motherfucker and they certainly wouldn’t be looking as perky and cheerful as they were right now. He slathered some more cream on just in case, and then pressed his palm closer to Sam’s chest incredulously. Sam’s pulse was rabbit-fast under his warm skin. “Christ, Sammy, are you okay?” he said, dragging his gaze up from his brother’s skin to stare at his face, and finding Sam flushed and wide eyed and mortified, his pupils dilated and his lips slightly parted.

…The fuck?

Very belatedly Dean glanced down at his brother’s lap and froze quite still, one hand still pressed to Sam’s chest and the other cupping his hip.

His mind went utterly blank.

“I fucking _love_ this universe,” breathed Faith from Sammy’s other side. Dean met her gaze, still reeling. “If you aren’t going to kiss him, Tiger, can I?”

Since Dean very definitely wasn’t going to kiss him, he nodded, and then stared as she leaned in and did just that.

It really shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. And it should have pissed him off, because he wasn’t real good at sharing his stuff, but – well, Dean was a little bit thrown right now. And if he was feeling a little turned on right now, well, there was surely nothing wrong with being turned on by the sight of Faith writhing like something from a porn film. That was a perfectly normal, red-blooded male reaction. And if the body she was wrapped around happened to be Sam’s, and if Dean found his shocked gaze sliding over Sam’s skin too – well, that didn’t mean a damned thing. Obviously. He kept on watching while Faith wriggled out of her sports bra because – well, breasts. But when Sam’s towel hit the floor Dean finally remembered how to move. His legs felt a little shaky under him, but he was off the bed and half way to the door before he’d consciously thought about it.

Faith’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t go.” He glanced back at the bed, distantly surprised that he honestly didn’t feel angry or jealous. He’d never been able to deny Sam anything he needed. Including, it turned out, his girl. If that was what Faith was.

“I’ll just – I need some fresh air,” he said, meeting Faith’s eyes and trying to grin because, man, even for his messy and fucked up existence, this was a whole lot of fucked up right here.

“You don’t have to go,” she said, looking right at him. He could feel his eyebrows fly up towards his hairline. Of course he had to go. Duh.

“Sorry. It’s not – it’s fine, really, no problem. I’ll just go out and, you know, I’ll just – it’s fine.” He was babbling. But it had been a pretty trying day. He realized after a moment or two that he was staring at her breasts, and in glancing away he found himself looking at Sam, and then he felt like his head was going to explode. He turned his back on them both and opened the door, feeling the cool night air on his face like a blessing. “Really, you just go ahead." He laughed, conscious that the joke was on him and hearing an edge of hysteria in the sound. "I’ll just - I'll take a walk.”

“Dean?”

In the end it was Sam’s voice, with its guilt and urgency and _need_, that made him stay.


	22. Fade To Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Faith has herself a very good time indeed, and Dean freaks the hell out

“This is so very, very fucked up,” said Dean, staring at the ceiling. He was sweaty and naked and in bed with a beautiful woman, and orgasms had been had, and the only thing wrong with this picture was the inclusion of his equally naked little brother in the bed along with them. He was almost certain that it had never ever crossed his mind to wonder what Sam looked like when he came – and now he knew. And how he moved, and the sounds he made, and – and Dean wasn’t at all sure that he could cope with any of this.

“We could totally get on Jerry Springer,” murmured Faith, her breath warming his collarbone. “Polyamorous bisexual incestuous demonfighters, and the dimension-hopping vampire slayers who love them.” She gave a little gurgle of laughter. “Or fuck them into the mattress, at least.”

“Catchy,” said Sam, and Dean’s shoulders tightened. He’d been kind of hoping that Sam was asleep. He wasn’t at all sure how he was going to look Sam in the face now. He had a feeling that he might have broken something between them that couldn’t be fixed. Or maybe it was just something in himself that was broken. He didn’t know which was worse.

“I’m not bisexual,” was all he said. “And that wasn’t – we didn’t – that doesn’t count as incest.” He felt like Wyle E Coyote with his legs windmilling frantically in the air before gravity reasserted itself and sent him plummeting down into the dust. “He and you – and, and you and me – and, okay, you and me and him, but there wasn’t – we didn’t – I’m not bisexual.” He was going to vomit. He would never be able to look Sam in the face again. Or Dad. Oh, God. Dad. This was not supposed to happen. It had never crossed his mind that this could happen. This was his little brother, for fuck’s sake.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Tiger,” said Faith, flicking his nipple and snorting with laughter at his reaction. “You can keep the manly straight card, if it’s so important to you. I’ll be the bad girl. I’m good at that.” The trace of bitterness in her voice made him wince, because he really did like her, but this was – this - he had no idea what to do with this, and it terrified him.

He jumped when Sam’s hand closed over his shoulder, and the look he shot across at Sam was two parts apology and one part shame – because, my God, this was just inexcusable. This was seriously, seriously fucked up.

“We don’t have to hug or anything,” said Sam, in a startlingly accurate imitation of Dean’s voice. “Look, don’t freak out on me, okay? We didn’t do anything really Jerry Springer, Dean. And it’s not like you’ve never had a threesome before.”

“Not with _my brother in the bed_! Sam, I watched you have sex. You watched me. You’re naked in my bed. This – I – fucking _hell_, Sammy!”

Faith propped herself up on one elbow and glared at him. “You’re harshing my mellow here, Tiger. Look, you never fantasized about fucking twins? Or just sisters?”

Dean gaped, and she smacked him upside the head. “It’s _not_ the same,” he protested.

“Of course it’s the same, jackass. It’s just that you and Junior are the hot little pieces of ass in this scenario.”

“That’s – I – huh.” Dean couldn’t figure out whether this was an insult or a compliment.

“So chill. You didn’t molest little Sammikins, Dean. I did. With his enthusiastic co-operation. You just happened to be there at the time. Doesn’t make you a dirty old man all of a sudden.” She leered. ‘Well, not _old_.”

“Faith!” Sam, incredibly, seemed to be fighting off laughter. “Not helping.”

“Sorry. Sorry! Seriously, Tiger – get over yourself.”

“But – “ He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about this idea of himself as a sex object. But it was better than worrying about himself being some kind of abusive freak. God. This was very, very fucked up indeed. And there _had_ been touching, even if everyone was pretending otherwise. There had, unavoidably, been accidental touching. And some not-so-accidental touching. And at the time it had actually seemed almost okay, because there was nobody he loved better than Sam, and nothing at all that he wouldn’t do for him. But – they didn’t do this. This wasn’t them. If Faith weren’t there they would never ever – Christ. He still wasn’t handling this at all, and so when Faith growled and leaned in to kiss him hard, her hand sliding south, he yielded instantly. This was okay. This he could do. Just him and a hot girl doing what he and hot girls did best.

He kept his eyes closed. But he knew that Sammy was still right there, watching silently, and it didn’t stop him, a little later, from sliding back inside Faith – and when his eyes did finally snap open, the first thing he saw was Sam watching them intently and touching himself. And Dean looked into Sam’s eyes and came right away, shocked and aroused in equal measure.

This was going to kill him, he thought dazedly. They were going to kill him. And then Faith, with an indescribably wicked grin, pulled herself carefully off him and clambered over to Sam. And Dean just lay there and watched them, feeling vaguely jealous and vaguely guilty and completely unable to look away.

* * * 

She was gone when he woke up, and instead of a butt naked vampire slayer snuggled into his side he seemed to have acquired an equally naked but much less female – and considerably more disturbing – armful of Sam. It was Sam’s arm slung over his chest, Sam’s cheek pressed into his collarbone, Sam’s body pressed into his side, Sam’s leg tangled between his.

Sam half-hard against his bare skin.

Dean stopped breathing.

Not a dream, then. Or a nightmare. He stared up at the ceiling and tried very hard not to panic, and not to move, because moving could wake Sam, and if Sam woke up right now then Dean was going to have to shoot them both. And he tried very hard not to notice Sam’s burgeoning erection, and not to have any kind of sympathetic reaction. Because there was no hot naked girl in the bed right now, and so that could not possibly happen.

Speaking of which – why the hell was there no girl in bed with them right now?

And out of the blue, as a blessed blessed distraction and a source of sudden dread, it struck him that he knew exactly where she would be. She had headed back to Roy Le Grange’s house to stake the vampire children and deal with Drusilla. Without them, because she didn’t trust them at her back. With good reason, admittedly, but that didn’t mean that Dean was happy with the idea of letting her just walk into danger.

Although that _was_, apparently, precisely what she was doing right now.

Damn it.

He was out of bed and half way into his jeans before Sam was fully awake. Dean fastened his fly with his back to the bed and yanked a shirt over his head at random, not knowing whether it was his or Sam’s.

“Dean?” Christ. He knew what Sam sounded like when he was having sex. Dean swallowed and tried to will the knowledge into oblivion. “Where’s Faith?”

“Now that, bro, is the multimillion dollar question,” he said harshly, glancing at the bed and then averting his gaze while Sam got up and got dressed. Dean checked his gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans. “I’m betting she’s playing at being a badass vampire slayer back at Roy’s place. What d’you think?”

“Shit,” said Sam. “You think she went back?”

Dean really loved how totally they were not talking about the sex thing. He was so down with that. “I think she went back,” he agreed, checking his pockets for the car keys. No keys.

“Shit,” said Sam again.

“Yeah.” He looked on the bedside table and then under the bed. No keys. He picked up discarded bits of clothing and waved them gingerly, trying not to remember how they had come to be in their various locations. No keys. “Fucking _hell_. Where did I put the goddamn keys?”

And then he suddenly understood. He looked at Sam and then dashed to the door and yanked it open, and then stared out at the empty space where the Impala used to be.

“Oh, wow,” said Sam, peering over his shoulder. To Dean’s astonishment he started to laugh out loud. “Holy cow, Dean. She really is your most interesting girlfriend ever, isn’t she?”

Dean stared at him, and then to his own surprise he felt hilarity bubbling up inside. Interesting. That was definitely one word for it. His mouth twitched, and then he started to laugh. Interesting. Yeah.

…girlfriend?

***

They found her at the Rourkes’ house, smashing things. There was no sign of Drusilla, and Dean couldn’t make out any incriminating piles of dust.

“Faith?”

Another plate shattered. She kicked the table and it skittered across the room, and then she turned and glared at them both. “They’re fucking _gone_,” she said, and then she punched a hole in the wall.

Dean and Sam exchanged worried glances. Dean, for his part, was kind of relieved that Drusilla wasn’t around, because it had been made painfully clear to him that both he and Sam were all too vulnerable to her powers. “Faith, it’s okay,” he said carefully, stepping towards her with his palms raised. “We’ll get them, I promise.”

“Are you even listening to me? They’ve _gone_, Dean. Where do we start to look for them? While I was wasting time screwing around with you two back at the motel, Drusilla was getting her undead Brady Bunch out of town.” For a moment he thought she was going to punch him, and then a moment later he thought she might burst into tears – but she did neither. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and visibly took control of herself. “They’ve gone,” she said again. “She got what she came for, and she’s gone.” Faith looked from Dean to Sam and back again. “Do you have some kind of clue for me, Tiger? ‘Cause I could really use a little bit of Hardy Boys detective mojo right about now.” She looked at the shattered crockery and the splintered wood and her mouth twisted. “That’s my only way home,” she added softly.

“We’ll find her,” said Sam, nudging Dean in the ribs with his elbow and jerking his chin towards Faith. If that was supposed to be Dean’s cue to get all touchy feely and Hallmark card, he wasn’t at all sure that it was what Faith wanted, and he glared back at Sam. “It’s what we _do_,” added Sam, frowning back at him.

“It _is _what we do,” agreed Dean, looking at Faith and wondering whether she really thought last night was just screwing around, and how he felt about that. “We track down nasties like her all the time.”

She looked up at him again. “Tiger, five seconds in her company and you’re her willing bitch.”

“So there are a few wrinkles we need to iron out. We find a spell, or an amulet, or something,” said Dean firmly. “We can do that, sweetheart. We know people. And we _can_track her down.” He felt quite certain about this. He watched her closely. She really was one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen. And not just beautiful – she was a force of nature. She annoyed the hell out of him, but she was absolutely dauntless, and capable, and a hell of a good person to have at your back in a fight. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she was fantastic in bed. He really didn’t _want_ here to go home, but if that was what she needed then he would help with that if he could. And he was pretty sure that he could. “We’ll find her. But – would it be so bad to have to stick around here a little longer?”

He definitely did not sound plaintive. Definitely.

Faith grinned despite herself. “Oh, I think you could keep me entertained, Tiger.” She glanced over at Sam and her grin broadened. Dean felt himself reddening. “It wouldn’t be so bad. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Drusilla comes after you two, once Layla’s back from the dead. She had her eye on you both. Not that I can blame her.” The frankly appreciative look she swept up and down Dean made him grin and shift slightly, conscious that his jeans were growing a little tight again. Christ. She _was_ going to kill him. Faith laughed, and reached out to lace her fingers through his. “So you don’t mind having a girl gatecrash your little all guy clubhouse, then?”

Dean shrugged. Her hand felt good in his. “Well, you’re kind of an ugly girl. Practically a guy, really.”

“Jackass!” she exclaimed, squeezing his hand painfully hard.

“See. It’s like holding hands with a wrestler,” he said, wincing.

“I’ll show you wrestling,” she said, laughing. “You are _so_ not getting laid tonight.” She grinned over at Sam. “Just you and me, then, kiddo. Think you’re man enough?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s a dirty job, but I guess someone’s got to do it,” he said, taking Faith’s free hand.

“My hero!” She fluttered her eyelashes at him shamefully.

“Although…a little time to rest and recharge would be good,” Sam admitted, a moment later.

“Wuss,” said Faith.

“This really is fucked up,” said Dean, shaking his head and looking at them both. He was pretty sure that he shouldn’t be feeling as cheerful as he was right now; Drusilla was still out there, Layla was still dead, Wolfram and Hart were still waiting to do who knew what, Sam wanted to go right back and face them and find the thing that killed their mother, and all in all Dean’s life had gotten a hell of a lot more complicated over the course of the past week. And yet he couldn’t seem to stop grinning like an idiot.

“But in a good way,” said Faith, her head on one side as she glanced at him. “In a really good way, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, and he pulled her towards him and kissed her soundly. “Come on then, Nancy Drew,” he said a moment later, seeing his own smile mirrored on Sam’s face. “Let’s go.”

FINIS


End file.
